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King Arthur’s Wisdom

King Arthur’s Wisdom

King Arthur was ambushed and imprisoned by the monarch of a neighboring kingdom. The monarch could have killed him but was moved by Arthur’s youth and ideals. So, the monarch offered him his freedom, as long as he could answer a very difficult question. Arthur would have a year to figure out the answer and, if after a year, he still had no answer; he would be put to death.

The question? . . . What do women really want? Such a question would perplex even the most knowledgeable man, and to young Arthur, it seemed an impossible query. But, since it was better than death, he accepted the monarch’s proposition to have an answer by year’s end.

He returned to his kingdom and began to poll everyone: the princess, the priests, the wise men and even the court jester. He spoke with every one, but no one could give him a satisfactory answer.

Many people advised him to consult the old witch, for only she would have the answer.

But the price would be high; as the witch was famous throughout the kingdom for the exorbitant prices she charged.

The last day of the year arrived and Arthur had no choice but to talk to the witch. She agreed to answer the question, but he would have to agree to her price first.

The old witch wanted to marry Sir Lancelot, the most noble of the Knights of the Round Table and Arthur’s closest friend!

Young Arthur was horrified. She was hunchbacked and hideous, had only one tooth, smelled like sewage, made obscene noises, etc. He had never encountered such a repugnant creature in all his life.

He refused to force his friend to marry her and endure such a terrible burden; but Lancelot, learning of the proposal, spoke with Arthur. He said nothing was too big of a sacrifice, compared to Arthur’s life and the preservation of the Round Table.

Hence, a wedding was proclaimed and the witch answered Arthur’s question thus:

What a woman really wants, she answered . . . is to be in charge of her own life.

Everyone in the kingdom instantly knew that the witch had uttered a great truth and that Arthur’s life would be spared.

And so it was, the neighboring monarch granted Arthur his freedom and Lancelot and the witch had a wonderful wedding.

The honeymoon hour approached and Lancelot, steeling himself for a horrific experience, entered the bedroom. But, what a sight awaited him. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen lay before him on the bed. The astounded Lancelot asked what had happened

The beauty replied that since he had been so kind to her when she appeared as a witch, she would henceforth be her horrible, deformed self only half-the-time and the beautiful maiden the other half.

Which would he prefer? Beautiful during the day . . . or night?

Lancelot pondered the predicament. During the day, a beautiful woman to show off to his friends, but at night, in the privacy of his castle, an old witch? Or, would he prefer having a hideous witch during the day, but by night, a beautiful woman for him to enjoy wondrous intimate moments?

What would YOU do?

What Lancelot chose is below. BUT . . . make YOUR choice before you scroll down below. OKAY?

Noble Lancelot said that he would allow HER to make the choice herself.

Upon hearing this, she announced that she would be beautiful all the time because he had respected her enough to let her be in charge of her own life.

Now . . . what is the moral to this story?

The moral is . . .

If you don’t let a woman have her own way . . .

Things are going to get ugly!

Apache

SEVEN ENCOURAGING SIGNS A PERSON WILL MAKE IT THROUGH THEIR SLUMP

26 January 2014 at 19:55

     My parents own a cattle ranch in the pine trees of Northern Arizona. One of the most memorable horses on the ranch through the years was a horse named Apache. Let me explain.

 

In his earlier years, Apache was raised on a ranch in New Mexico. The ranch was on a high plateau with very few trees. While there, Apache had the horrible experience of being bitten on his nose by a rattlesnake. As a result of the painful bite, Apache developed an avoidance strategy.

 

Every time Apache saw a tree limb on the ground or anything that resembled a snake, he would instantly side step. He was fast. The problem was the rider on Apache, when he thought he saw a rattlesnake, would instantly be stranded in the air four feet from where Apache had side-stepped. A rider, stranded in the air, with horse and saddle missing, is a problem. As far as I know, Apache didn’t like to share his problems with the rider, but he did anyway.

 

Apache eventually came to my parent’s ranch from New Mexico. There are fallen pine bows’ everywhere and every pine bow looked like a snake to Apache. He had never seen so many snakes. We had to inform anyone riding Apache about his avoidance strategy. You never know what is going to look like a snake to a horse with an issue…and the rider on board. Apache was in a slump.

 

There’s a lesson here. Many people are like Apache, bitten by bad stuff happening to them in life. Maybe they have had a divorce, business failure, lost their best friend or loved one. Maybe they have just lost hope in life. Like Apache, they are side stepping in life, trying to avoid ever hurting again. You can’t blame Apache. What happened to him was tough, real tough. The saying goes, “a cat that jumps onto a hot stove will never jump on a stove again.” The problem is that the cat will never jump on a cold stove either. That’s called a slump.

 

But, through the years, I have seen many Apache type of people, get out of their slump. I’ve noticed seven encouraging signs that are present when they have gotten back into circulation.

 

The first encouraging sign is they were willing to change, to do something different, and to take the first step. It takes time to do that. Second, they were willing to face the reality of what happened and accept what has happened. Third, they were willing to learn about their issues. Fourth, they were willing to reach out to others, get counseling, or join a small group with others with similar challenges. They were willing to give up being the lone ranger.

 

The fifth encouraging sign is they were willing to start replacing destructive habits, attitudes, outlooks, and thinking with constructive ones. The sixth sign is they were willing to accept that getting out of their slump will be a process, not an event. They were willing to give time…time. And finally, they were willing to let God help. They are willing to give up their self-sufficiency for God’s ability.

 

If you or someone you know has a number of those signs, be encouraged! Incidentally, Apache became the one of the best horses ever on the ranch. You see, you can teach can old horse new tricks.

 

Ed Delph    January 20, 2014

Don’t Step on the Ducks

Three guys had an accident and went straight to heaven. When they got there, St. Peter said, “We only have one rule in heaven. Don’t step on the ducks!”

They entered heaven and sure enough there were ducks all over the place. It was almost impossible not to step on a duck and although they tried their best to avoid them the first guy accidentally stepped on one.

Along came St. Peter with the homeliest woman he ever saw. St. Peter chained them together and said, “Your punishment for stepping on a duck is to spend eternity chained to this homely woman”.

The next day, the second guy stepped accidentally on a duck and along came St. Peter, who didn’t miss a thing, and with him was another extremely homely woman. He chained them together with the same admonishment as the first.

The third guy had observed all this and not wanting to be chained for all eternity to a horrible looking woman was very careful where he stepped. He managed to go for months without stepping on any ducks. Then one day, St. Peter came up to him with the most gorgeous woman he had ever laid eyes on. St. Peter chained them together without saying a word.

The guy remarked, “I wonder what I did to deserve being chained to you for all eternity?”

She replied, “I don’t know about you, but I stepped on a duck”!

Grandfathers Story

2wolvesposter-50bAn old Grandfather said to his grandson, who came to him with anger at a friend who had done him an injustice, “Let me tell you a story.”

“I too, at times, have felt a great hate for those that have taken so much, with no sorrow for what they do.”

But hate wears you down, and does not hurt your enemy. It is like taking poison and wishing your enemy would die. I have struggled with these feelings many times.” He continued, “It is as if there are two wolves inside me. One is good and does no harm. He lives in harmony with all around him, and does not take offense when no offense was intended. He will only fight when it is right to do so, and in the right way.

But the other wolf, ah! He is full of anger. The littlest thing will set him into a fit of temper. He fights everyone, all the time, for no reason. He cannot think because his anger and hate are so great. It is helpless anger,for his anger will change nothing.

Sometimes, it is hard to live with these two wolves inside me, for both of them try to dominate my spirit.”

The boy looked intently into his Grandfather’s eyes and asked, “Which one wins, Grandfather?”

The Grandfather smiled and quietly said, “The one I feed.”

The Stranger!!

The Stranger! by Chuck Lewis

A few years after I was born, my Dad met a stranger who was new to our small town. From the beginning, Dad was fascinated with this enchanting newcomer and soon invited him to live with our family. The stranger was quickly accepted and was around from then on.

As I grew up, I never questioned his place in my family. In my young mind, he had a special niche.

My parents were complementary instructors: Mom taught me good from evil, and Dad taught me to obey.

But the stranger… he was our storyteller. He would keep us spellbound for hours on end with adventures, mysteries and comedies.

If I wanted to know anything about politics, history or science, he always knew the answers about the past, understood the present and even seemed able to predict the future! He took my family to the first major league ball game. He made me laugh, and he made me cry. The stranger never stopped talking, but Dad didn’t seem to mind.

Sometimes, Mom would get up quietly while the rest of us were shushing each other to listen to what he had to say, and she would go to the kitchen for peace and quiet.

(I wonder now if she ever prayed for the stranger to leave.)

Dad ruled our household with certain moral convictions, but the stranger never felt obligated to honor them. Profanity, for example, was not allowed in our home – not from us, our friends or any visitors. Our long time visitor, however, got away with four-letter words that burned my ears and made my dad squirm and my mother blush.

My Dad didn’t permit the liberal use of alcohol but the stranger encouraged us to try it on a regular basis. He made cigarettes look cool, cigars manly, and pipes distinguished. He talked freely (much too freely!) about sex. His comments were sometimes blatant, sometimes suggestive, and generally embarrassing.

I now know that my early concepts about relationships were influenced strongly by the stranger. Time after time, he opposed the values of my parents, yet he was seldom rebuked … And NEVER asked to leave.

More than fifty years have passed since the stranger moved in with our family. He has blended right in and is not nearly as fascinating as he was at first. Still, if you could walk into my parents’ den today, you would still find him sitting over in his corner, waiting for someone to listen to him talk and watch him draw his pictures.

His name?…. We just call him ‘TV’.

(Note: This should be required reading for every household!)

He has a wife now….we call he ‘Computer’.

Their first child is ‘Cell Phone’.

Second child ‘IPod’.

And JUST BORN LAST YEAR WAS a Grandchild: ‘IPAD’.

The Folded Napkin … A Truckers Story

The Folded Napkin … A Truckers Story

I try not to be biased, but I had my doubts about hiring Stevie. His placement counselor assured me that he would be a good, reliable busboy. But I had never had a mentally handicapped employee and wasn’t sure I wanted one. I wasn’t sure how my customers would react to Stevie. He was short, a little dumpy with the smooth facial features and thick-tongued speech of Downs Syndrome.

I wasn’t worried about most of my trucker customers because truckers don’t generally care who buses tables as long as the meatloaf platter is good and the pies are homemade. The four-wheeler drivers were the ones who concerned me; the mouthy college kids traveling to school; the yuppie snobs who secretly polish their silverware with their napkins for fear of catching some dreaded “truck stop germ” the pairs of white-shirted business men on expense accounts who think every truck stop waitress wants to be flirted with. I knew those people would be uncomfortable around Stevie so I closely watched him for the first few weeks.

I shouldn’t have worried. After the first week, Stevie had my staff wrapped around his stubby little finger, and within a month my truck regulars had adopted him as their official truck stop mascot. After that, I really didn’t care what the rest of the customers thought of him. He was like a 21-year-old in blue jeans and Nikes, eager to laugh and eager to please, but fierce in his attention to his duties. Every salt and pepper shaker was exactly in its place, not a bread crumb or coffee spill was visible when Stevie got done with the table.

Our only problem was persuading him to wait to clean a table until after the customers were finished. He would hover in the background, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, scanning the dining room until a table was empty. Then he would scurry to the empty table and carefully bus dishes and glasses onto cart and meticulously wipe the table up with a practiced flourish of his rag. If he thought a customer was watching, his brow would pucker with added concentration. He took pride in doing his job exactly right, and you had to love how hard he tried to please each and every person he met.

Over time, we learned that he lived with his mother, a widow who was disabled after repeated surgeries for cancer. They lived on their Social Security benefits in public housing two miles from the truck stop. Their social worker, who stopped to check on him every so often, admitted they had fallen between the cracks. Money was tight, and what I paid him was probably the difference between them being able to live together and Stevie being sent to a group home. That’s why the restaurant was a gloomy place that morning last August, the first morning in three years that Stevie missed work.

He was at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester getting a new valve or something put in his heart. His social worker said that people with Downs Syndrome often have heart problems at an early age so this wasn’t unexpected, and there was a good chance he would come through the surgery in good shape and be back at work in a few months.

A ripple of excitement ran through the staff later that morning when word came that he was out of surgery, in recovery, and doing fine. Frannie, the head waitress, let out a war hoop and did a little dance in the aisle when she heard the good news. Bell Ringer, one of our regular trucker customers, stared at the sight of this 50-year-old grandmother of four doing a victory shimmy beside his table. Frannie blushed, smoothed her apron and shot Bell Ringer a withering look.

He grinned. “OK, Frannie, what was that all about?” he asked.

“We just got word that Stevie is out of surgery and going to be okay.”

“I was wondering where he was. I had a new joke to tell him. What was the surgery about?”

Frannie quickly told Bell Ringer and the other two drivers sitting at his booth about Stevie’s surgery, then sighed: “Yeah, I’m glad he is going to be OK,” she said. “But I don’t know how he and his Mom are going to handle all the bills. From what I hear, they’re barely getting by as it is.” Bell Ringer nodded thoughtfully, and Frannie hurried off to wait on the rest of her tables.

Since I hadn’t had time to round up a busboy to replace Stevie and really didn’t want to replace him, the girls were busing their own tables that day until we decided what to do. After the morning rush, Frannie walked into my office. She had a couple of paper napkins in her hand and a funny look on her face.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“I didn’t get that table where Bell Ringer and his friends were sitting cleared off after they left, and Pony Pete and Tony Tipper were sitting there when I got back to clean it off,” she said. “This was folded and tucked under a coffee cup.”

She handed the napkin to me, and three $20 bills fell onto my desk when I opened it. On the outside, in big, bold letters, was printed “Something For Stevie.

Pony Pete asked me what that was all about,” she said, “so I told him about Stevie and his Mom and everything, and Pete looked at Tony and Tony looked at Pete, and they ended up giving me this.” She handed me another paper napkin that had “Something For Stevie” scrawled on its outside. Two $50 bills were tucked within its folds.

Frannie looked at me with wet, shiny eyes, shook her head and said simply: “truckers.”

That was three months ago. Today is Thanksgiving, the first day Stevie is supposed to be back to work. His placement worker said he’s been counting the days until the doctor said he could work, and it didn’t matter at all that it was a holiday. He called 10 times in the past week, making sure we knew he was coming, fearful that we had forgotten him or that his job was in jeopardy.

I arranged to have his mother bring him to work. I then met them in the parking lot and invited them both to celebrate his day back. Stevie was thinner and paler, but couldn’t stop grinning as he pushed through the doors and headed for the back room where his apron and busing cart were waiting.

“Hold up there, Stevie, not so fast,” I said. I took him and his mother by their arms. “Work can wait for a minute. To celebrate you coming back, breakfast for you and your mother is on me!”

I led them toward a large corner booth at the rear of the room. I could feel and hear the rest of the staff following behind as we marched through the dining room. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw booth after booth of grinning truckers empty and join the procession. We stopped in front of the big table. Its surface was covered with coffee cups, saucers and dinner plates, all sitting slightly crooked on dozens of folded paper napkins.

“First thing you have to do, Stevie, is clean up this mess,” I said. I tried to sound stern. Stevie looked at me, and then at his mother, then pulled out one of the napkins. It had “Something for Stevie” printed on the outside. As he picked it up, two $10 bills fell onto the table.

Stevie stared at the money, then at all the napkins peeking from beneath the tableware, each with his name printed or scrawled on it. I turned to his mother.

“There’s more than $10,000 in cash and checks on table, all from truckers and trucking companies that heard about your problems. “Happy Thanksgiving,”

Well, it got real noisy about that time, with everybody hollering and shouting, and there were a few tears, as well. But you know what’s funny? While everybody else was busy shaking hands and hugging each other, Stevie, with a big, big smile on his face, was busy clearing all the cups and dishes from the table. Best worker I ever hired.

Plant a seed and watch it grow. At this point, you can bury this inspirational message or forward it fulfilling the need! If you shed a tear, hug yourself, because you are a compassionate person.

Well.. Don’t just sit there! Share this story!

How to Make a Wedding Toast

[tube]http://youtu.be/4deue0KdMXM[/tube]

Bubba wins in New York

His name was Bubba, he was from Georgia…and he needed a loan. So he walked into a bank in New York City and asked for the loan officer. He told the loan officer that he was going to Paris for an International Redneck festival for two weeks and needed to borrow $5,000 and that he was not a depositor of the bank.
The bank officer Told him that the bank would need some form of security for the loan, so the Redneck handed over the keys to a new Ferrari. The car was parked on the street in front of the bank. The Redneck produced the title and everything checked out. The loan officer Agreed to hold the car as collateral for the loan and apologized for having To charge 12% interest.
Later, the bank’s president and its officers all enjoyed a good laugh at the Redneck from the South for using a $250,000 Ferrari as collateral for a $5,000 loan. An employee of the bank then drove the Ferrari Into the bank’s private underground garage and parked it.
Two weeks later, the Redneck returned, repaid the $5,000 and the interest of $23.07.
The loan officer said, “Sir, we are very happy to have had your business, and this transaction has worked out very nicely, but we are a little puzzled.
While you were away, we checked you out on Dunn & Bradstreet and found that You are a Distinguished Alumni from the University of Georgia, a highly sophisticated investor and Multi-Millionaire with real estate and Financial interests all over the world.
Your investments include a large number of wind turbines around Sweetwater, Texas. What puzzles us is, why would you bother to borrow $5,000?” 

The good ‘ole boy replied, “Where else in New York City can I park my car for two weeks for only $23.07 and expect it to be there when I return?”

His name was Bubba…keep an eye on those southern boys! Just because we talk funny does not mean we are stupid.

“MONKEY’S ON A TRIP” Gianni Rodari’s fable

One day the zoo monkeys decided to make an educational trip. they walked and walked, then they stopped and one asked:

– What do you see?
– The lion’s cage, the seals’ pool and the giraffe’s house.
– What a big world, and how instructive is travelling.
They started again their journey and stopped only at midday.
– What can you see now?
– The giraffe’s house, the seals’ pool and the lion’s cage.
– What a strange world and how instructive is travelling.
They started travelling again and stopped at the sunset.
– What is to be seen?
– The lion’s cage, the giraffe’s house and the seals’ pool.
– What a boring world: you always see the same things. And travelling is no use at all.
Of course!: they travelled and travelled, but they had not got out of their cage and did nothing but going round and round as the horses in a merry-go-round.

(Gianni Rodari)

The Fable of The Old Merchant, the Sleuth & The Tapioca

The Fable of The Old Merchant, the Sleuth & The Tapioca

A HIGH-PRICED Detective was sitting in his Lair, trying to look Mysterious, when there came to him a gray-muzzled old Business Man. The Latter was noted for his Probity, his Keenness and the Fact that he never Thawed. In the Commercial Agencies he was Rated AA Plus A1, which meant that he had it in Bales.

“I wish to enlist your Services,” said the Great Merchant. “A Young Man who lately has come into a World of Money desires to be admitted to Partnership in our Large Business. We are an Old and Reputable Concern, and before associating ourselves with this Stripling we wish to know all about his Character and Habits. We want you to Camp on his Trail and give us a straight Line on his Daily Life.”

So the Main Detective called in a couple of Ferrets, who drew Twelve a Week, and they began to Shadow the Young Man at $8 a Day. They put on Gum Shoes and covered their Faces with black Muffs, such as are worn by the Train Robbers in a Davis and Keogh Melodrama. They peeked over Transoms and shinned up Fire Escapes and hid behind Bill-Boards, and every time the Young Man made a Move they were Next. At the end of a Week the Celebrated Detective made a Report to the Pious Patriarch who had employed him.

“I regret to tell you that the Young Man who seeks a Connection with your Well-Known House is a Night Hawk and a Spender,” said the Superintendent. “He is trying to dim the Record of Coal-Oil Johnny. He opens Cold Magnums for the Merry-Merry almost every Midnight, and he is having Diamonds set into the Teeth of Nine of the Peroxide Sisters. By the time that he lands into his Happy Clothes of an Evening he is fairly well Corned, and he sees the Dawn of Morning through a Purple Haze. In the Afternoon, when he arises, he has a hang-Over which is made the Foundation of something very Tidy in the way of a Skate. lie begins to Push the Button and absorb the tall Pick-Me-Ups. For a six o’clock Breakfast he has a few Cigarettes and some of the cold Zippy-Zip. Thus he contrives to be the Custodian of a continuous Bun and stave off the Katzenjammer, his Life resolving itself into one long Honolulu Sunset. His Associates are a fine Bunch of Rowdy-Dows, who lean over when they Walk, and wear Lilac Gloves in the Summer Time. Their one Joy is to purchase little Hot Birds and big Johannesburg Twinklers for the Ladies depicted on the Lithos.”

“My! my!” said the staid old Merchant, as he shook his silvered Head. “He must be a Lah-Lah if he can hold to that Gait. I suppose he plays the Drunken Sailor with his Money.”

“I regret to say that he does,” replied the Eminent Sleuth. “All the Tin-Horn Sports and Shoe-String Gamblers speak of him as their Meal Ticket. He is put against a new Brace Game every Week. He is so Soft that sometimes even the hardened Sheet-Writers feel that it is a Shame to take it away from him. But they need the Vulgar Mazume, so they lighten him.”

“Is it not Sad to see a pin-headed Rake dissipating a Large Fortune built up by some one who Walked to save Car Fare?” asked the Old Gentleman. “You are sure that he has no Business Gumption?”

“No more than a Rabbit,” was the Reply of the Detective. “He is a Come-On for any Bunco Game in the List. He is a Ninny. Should you give him an Interest in your Business he would show up at his Desk about once a Month, and if you handed him an Assessment he would think it was a Dividend.”

“I thank you for your Report,” said the Pillar of Trade. “We will admit the Young Man to a Full Partnership and urge him to put in all the Coin at his Command.”

“I am surprised,” said the Sleuth. “He is a horrible Light Weight.”

“That is why he will be a Mark for a coolheaded Johnny Wise who lives on Cereal Food and gets into his Pajamas at 9.30 every Evening,” said the Prominent Merchant with a slight Grin. “Why should all this lovely Money go to Cabmen and straw-colored Soubrettes when it might as well be Garnered by an Honored Citizen who would know how to Invest it? From what you tell me of the Rapid Youth I conclude that he would be Meat for a crafty Side Partner.”

Next Day the Chorus Girls’ Friend was Taken In, and eighteen Months later the steady old Partner with the Snowy Locks had him euchred down to the Clothes on his Back.

His Fortune was permanently Invested in an Old and Reliable Establishment, and he was on his Uppers for fair.

MORAL: Any one who has the Qualifications can get in with a First-Class Firm.