*SOME THINGS HAVE BEEN REMOVED TO PROTECT THE GUILTY-- OH I MEAN INNOCENT*
Here is something I got in an e-mail and I would like to send it out to all my “Friends”! I wish you all the very best in 2001!!
Everyone always tells their friends they'll be 'Best Friends Forever,' but how often does that last?
You might be best friends one year, pretty good friends the next year, don’t talk that often the next year, and don't want to talk at all the year after that.
So, I just wanted to say, even if I never talk to you again in my life, you are special to me and you have made a difference in my life, I look up to you, respect you, and truly cherish you.
The e-mail said send this to all your friends, so I am sending it to all of you now, no matter how often you talk, or how close you are, let old friends know you haven't forgotten them, and tell new friends you never will.
Remember, everyone needs a friend; someday you might feel like you have no friends at all, just remember this and take comfort in knowing somebody out there cares about you and always will.
Something to make us remember the important things
A Touching Story Worth Reading By Robert Peterson
She was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where I live. I drive to this beach, a distance of three or four miles, whenever the world begins to close in on me. She was building a sand castle or something and looked up, her eyes as blue as the sea.
"Hello," she said.
I answered with a nod, not really in the mood to bother with a small child.
"I'm building," she said.
"I see that. What is it?" I asked, not caring.
"Oh, I don't know, I just like the feel of sand."
That sounds good, I thought, and slipped off my shoes. A sandpiper glided by.
"That's a joy," the child said.
"It's a what?"
"It's a joy. My mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy."
The bird went gliding down the beach. Good-bye joy, I muttered to myself, hello pain, and turned to walk on. I was depressed; my life seemed completely out of balance.
"What's your name?"
She wouldn't give up. "Robert," I answered. "I'm Robert Peterson."
"Mine's Wendy... I'm six."
"Hi, Wendy."
She giggled. "You're funny," she said.
In spite of my gloom, I laughed too and walked on. Her musical giggle followed me.
"Come again, Mr. P," she called. "We'll have another happy day."
After a few days of a group of unruly Boy Scouts, PTA meetings, and an ailing mother. The sun was shining one morning as I took my hands out of thedishwater. I need a sandpiper, I said to myself, gathering up my coat. The ever-changing balm of the seashore awaited me. The breeze was chilly but I strode along, trying to recapture the serenity I needed.
"Hello, Mr. P," she said. "Do you want to play?"
"What did you have in mind?" I asked, with a twinge of annoyance.
"I don't know, you say."
"How about charades?" I asked sarcastically.
The tinkling laughter burst forth again.
"I don't know what that is."
"Then let's just walk." Looking at her, I noticed the delicate fairness of her face.
"Where do you live?" I asked.
"Over there." She pointed toward a row of summer cottages.
