Nice Stuff Thread

[RESORT2ME]

Originally Posted by KHolleger

Thanks!
I have a wonderful picture that shows this little girl on the beach. I printed this out and taped it behind that picture.

I'm glad you found a precious match.

[RESORT2ME]

A LONG STORY, BUT WORTH THE READ.
=========================================


B-17s - Like Mated Dragonflies


Tomorrow morning they'll lay the remains of Glenn Rojohn to rest in the Peace Lutheran Cemetery in the little town of Greenock, Pa., just southeast of Pittsburgh. He was 81, and had been in the air conditioning and plumbing business in nearby McKeesport.


If you had seen him on the street he would probably have looked to you like so many other graying, bespectacled old World War II veterans whose names appear so often now on obituary pages. But like so many of them, though he seldom talked about it, he could have told you one hell of a story. He won the Distinguished Flying Cross and the Purple Heart all in one fell swoop in the skies over Germany on December 31, 1944.


Fell swoop indeed. Capt. Glenn Rojohn, of the 8th Air Force's 100th Bomb Group, was flying his B-17G Flying Fortress bomber on a raid over Hamburg. His formation had braved heavy flak to drop their bombs, then turned 180 degrees to head out over the North Sea. They had finally turned northwest, headed back to England, when they were jumped by German fighters at 22,000 feet.


The Messerschmitt Me-109s pressed their attack so closely that Capt. Rojohn could see the faces of the German pilots. He and other pilots fought to remain in formation so they could use each other's guns to defend the group. Rojohn saw a B-17 ahead of him burst into flames and slide sickeningly toward the earth. He gunned his ship forward to fill in the gap.


He felt a huge impact. The big bomber shuddered, felt suddenly very heavy and began losing altitude. Rojohn grasped almost immediately that he had collided with another plane. A B-17 below him, piloted by Lt. William G. McNab, had slammed the top of its fuselage into the bottom of Rojohn's.


The top turret gun of McNab's plane was now locked in the belly of Rojohn's plane and the ball turret in the belly of Rojohn's had smashed through the top of McNab's. The two bombers were almost perfectly aligned - the tail of the lower plane was slightly to the left of Rojohn's tailpiece. They were stuck together, as a crewman later recalled, "like mating dragon flies." No one will ever know exactly how it happened. Perhaps both pilots had moved instinctively to fill the same gap in formation. Perhaps McNab's plane had hit an air pocket.


Three of the engines on the bottom plane were still running, as were all four of Rojohn's. The fourth engine on the lower bomber was on fire and the flames were spreading to the rest of the aircraft. The two were losing altitude quickly. Rojohn tried several times to gun his engines and break free of the other plane. The two were inextricably locked together.


Fearing a fire, Rojohn cuts his engines and rang the bailout bell. If his crew had any chance of parachuting, he had to keep the plane under control somehow. The ball turret, hanging below the belly of the B-17, was considered by many to be a death trap - the worst station on the bomber. In this case, both ball turrets figured in a swift and terrible drama of life and death. Staff Sgt. Edward L. Woodall, Jr., in the ball turret of the lower bomber, had felt the impact of the collision above him and saw shards of metal drop past him. Worse, he realized both electrical and hydraulic power was gone. Remembering escape drills, he grabbed the handcrank, released the clutch and cranked the turret and its guns until they were straight down, then turned and climbed out the back of the turret up into the fuselage.


Once inside the plane's belly Woodall saw a chilling sight, the ball turret of the other bomber protruding through the top of the fuselage. In that turret, hopelessly trapped, was Staff Sgt. Joseph Russo. Several crew members on Rojohn's plane tried frantically to crank Russo's turret around so he could escape. But, jammed into the fuselage of the lower plane, the turret would not budge. Aware of his plight, but possibly unaware that his voice was going out over the intercom of his plane, Sgt. Russo began reciting his Hail Marys.


Up in the cockpit, Capt. Rojohn and his co-pilot, 2nd Lt. William G. Leek, Jr., had propped their feet against the instrument panel so they could pull back on their controls with all their strength, trying to prevent their plane from going into a spinning dive that would prevent the crew from jumping out. Capt. Rojohn motioned left and the two managed to wheel the grotesque, collision-born hybrid of a plane back toward the German coast. Leek felt like he was intruding on Sgt. Russo as his prayers crackled over the radio, so he pulled off his flying helmet with its earphones.


Rojohn, immediately grasping that crew could not exit from the bottom of his plane, ordered his top turret gunner and his radio operator, Tech Sgts. Orville Elkin and Edward G. Neuhaus, to make their way to the back of the fuselage and out the waist door behind the left wing. Then he got his navigator, 2nd Lt. Robert Washington, and his bombardier, Sgt. James Shirley to follow them. As Rojohn and Leek somehow held the plane steady, these four men, as well as waist gunner Sgt. Roy Little and tail gunner Staff Sgt. Francis Chase were able to bail out. Now the plane locked below them was aflame. Fire poured over Rojohn's left wing. He could feel the heat from the plane below and hear the sound of 50 caliber machine gun ammunition "cooking off" in the flames.


Capt. Rojohn ordered Lieut. Leek to bail out. Leek knew that without him helping keep the controls back, the plane would drop in a flaming spiral and the centrifugal force would prevent Rojohn from bailing. He refused the order. Meanwhile, German soldiers and civilians on the ground that afternoon looked up in wonder. Some of them thought they were seeing a new Allied secret weapon - a strange eight-engined double bomber. But anti-aircraft gunners on the North Sea coastal island of Wangerooge had seen the collision. A German battery captain wrote in his logbook at 12:47 P.M.: "Two fortresses collided in a formation in the NE. The planes flew hooked together and flew 20 miles south. The two planes were unable to fight anymore. The crash could be awaited so I stopped the firing at these two planes."


Suspended in his parachute in the cold December sky, Bob Washington watched with deadly fascination as the mated bombers, trailing black smoke, fell to earth about three miles away, their downward trip ending in an ugly boiling blossom of fire. In the cockpit Rojohn and Leek held grimly to the controls trying to ride a falling rock. Leek tersely recalled, "The ground came up faster and faster. Praying was allowed. We gave it one last effort and slammed into the ground." The McNab plane on the bottom exploded, vaulting the other B-17 upward and forward. It hit the ground and slid along until its left wing slammed through a wooden building and the smoldering mass of aluminum came to a stop.


Rojohn and Leek were still seated in their cockpit. The nose of the plane was relatively intact, but everything from the B-17's massive wings back was destroyed. They looked at each other incredulously. Neither was badly injured. Movies have nothing on reality. Still perhaps in shock, Leek crawled out through a huge hole behind the cockpit, felt for the familiar pack in his uniform pocket and pulled out a cigarette. He placed it in his mouth and was about to light it. Then he noticed a young German soldier pointing a rifle at him. The soldier looked scared and annoyed. He grabbed the cigarette out of Leek's mouth and pointed down to the gasoline pouring out over the wing from a ruptured fuel tank.


Two of the six men who parachuted from Rojohn's plane did not survive the jump. But the other four and, amazingly, four men from the other bomber, including ball turret gunner Woodall, survived. All were taken prisoner. Several of them were interrogated at length by the Germans until they were satisfied that what had crashed was not a new American secret weapon.


Rojohn, typically, didn't talk much about his Distinguished Flying Cross. Of Leek, he said, "In all fairness to my co-pilot, he's the reason I'm alive today." Like so many veterans, Rojohn got back to life unsentimentally after the war, marrying and raising a son and daughter. For many years, though, he tried to link back up with Leek, going through government records to try to track him down.


It took him 40 years, but in 1986, he found the number of Leek's mother, in Washington State. Yes, her son Bill was visiting from California. Would Rojohn like to speak with him? Two old men on a phone line, trying to pick up some familiar timbre of youth in each other's voice. One can imagine that first conversation between the two men who had shared that wild ride in the cockpit of a B-17.


A year later, the two were reunited at a reunion of the 100th Bomb Group in Long Beach, Calif. Bill Leek died the following year. Glenn Rojohn was the last survivor of the remarkable piggyback flight He was like thousands upon thousands of men -- soda jerks and lumberjacks, teachers and dentists, students and lawyers and service station attendants and store clerks and farm boys -- who in the prime of their lives went to war in World War II.


They sometimes did incredible things, endured awful things, and for the most part most of them pretty much kept it to themselves and just faded back into the fabric of civilian life. Capt. Glenn Rojohn, AAF, died last Saturday after a long siege of illness. But he apparently faced that final battle with the same grim aplomb he displayed that remarkable day over Germany so long ago. Let us be thankful for such men. A great story. I wonder how many more stories like this one are lost each day as members of the Greatest Generation pass on.

[RESORT2ME]

Mouse Story.. a message
=======================================

A mouse looked through the crack in the wall to see
the farmer and his wife open a package.
"What food might this contain?" The mouse wondered.
He was devastated to discover it was a mousetrap.

Retreating to the farmyard, the mouse proclaimed the warning, "There is a mousetrap in the house! There is a mousetrap in the house!"

The chicken clucked and scratched, raised her head and said, "Mr. Mouse,I can tell this is a grave concern to you; but it is of no consequence to me. I cannot be bothered by it."

The mouse turned to the pig and told him,"There is a mousetrap in thehouse!"
The pig sympathized, but said, "I am so very sorry, Mr. Mouse; but there is nothing I can do aboutit but pray. Be assured you are in my prayers."

The mouse turned to the cow and said "There is a mousetrap in the house!"
The cow said, "Wow, Mr. Mouse. I'm sorry for you, but it's no skin off my nose."

So, the mouse returned to the house, head down and dejected, to face the farmer's mousetrap alone. That very night a sound was heard throughout the house, like the sound of a mousetrap catching its prey.

The farmer's wife rushed to see what was caught. In the darkness she didnot see it was a venomous snake whose tail the trap had caught.

The snake bit the farmer's wife. The farmer rushed her to the hospital,and she returned home with a fever.

Now everyone knows you treat a fever with fresh chicken soup, so the farmer took his hatchet to the farmyard for the soup's main ingredient.

But his wife's sickness continued, so friends and neighbors came to sit with her around the clock. To feed them, the farmer butchered the pig.

The farmer's wife did not get well; she died and many people came for her funeral. So the farmer had the cow slaughtered to provide enough meat for all of them.

The mouse looked upon it all from his crack in the wall with great sadness.
So, the next time you hear someone is facing a problem and think it doesn't concern you, remember -- when one of us is threatened, we are all at risk.

We are all involved in this journey called life. We must keep an eye out for one another and make an extra effort to encourage one another.

REMEMBER:
ONE OF THE BEST THINGS TO HOLD ON TO IN THIS WORLD IS A FRIEND.

[RESORT2ME]

READ THIS VERY SLOWLY... IT'S PRETTY PROFOUND.

Too many people put off something that brings them joy just because they haven't thought about it, don't have it on their schedule, didn't know it was coming or are too rigid to depart from their routine.

I got to thinking one day about all those women on the Titanic who passed up dessert at dinner that fateful night in an effort to cut back >From then on, I've tried to be a little more flexible.

How many women out there will eat at home because their husband didn't suggest going out to dinner until after something had been thawed? Does the word "refrigeration" mean nothing to you?

How often have your kids dropped in to talk and sat in silence while you watched 'Jeopardy' on television?

I cannot count the times I called my sister and said, "How about going to lunch in a half hour?" She would gas up and stammer, "I can't. I have clothes on the line. My hair is dirty. I wish I had known yesterday, I had a late breakfast, It looks like rain." And my personal favorite: "It's Monday." .She died a few years ago. We never did have lunch together.

Because Americans cram so much into their lives, we tend to schedule our headaches. We live on a sparse diet of promises we make to ourselves when all the conditions are perfect!

We'll go back and visit the grandparents when we get Steve toilet-trained. We'll entertain when we replace the living-room carpet. We'll go on a second honeymoon when we get two more kids out of college.

Life has a way of accelerating as we get older. The days get shorter, and the list of promises to ourselves gets longer. One morning, we awaken, and all we have to show for our lives is a litany of "I'm going to," "I plan on," and "Someday, when things are settled down a bit."

When anyone calls my 'seize the moment' friend, she is open to adventure and available for trips. She keeps an open mind on new ideas. Her enthusiasm for life is contagious. You talk with her for five minutes, and you're ready to trade your bad feet for a pair of Roller blades and skip an elevator for a bungee cord.

My lips have not touched ice cream in 10 years. I love ice cream. It's just that I might as well apply it directly to my stomach with a spatula and eliminate the digestive process. The other day, I stopped the car and bought a triple-decker. If my car had hit an iceberg on the way home, I would have died happy.

Now...go on and have a nice day. Do something you WANT to......not something on your SHOULD DO list. If you were going to die soon and had only one phone call you could make, who would you call and what would you say? And why are you waiting?

Make sure you read this to the end; you will understand why I sent this to you.

Have you ever watched kids playing on a merry go round or listened to the rain lapping on the ground? Ever followed a butterfly's erratic flight or gazed at the sun into the fading night? Do you run through each day on the fly? When you ask "How are you?" Do you hear the reply?

When the day is done, do you lie in your bed with the next hundred chores running through your head? Ever told your child, "We'll do it tomorrow." And in your haste, not see his sorrow? Ever lost touch? Let a good friendship die? Just call to say "Hi"?

When you worry and hurry through your day, it is like an unopened gift....Thrown away.... Life is not a race. Take it slower. Hear the music before the song is over. It's National Friendship Week. Show your friends how much you care. Send this to everyone you consider a FRIEND. If it comes back to you, then you'll know you have a circle of friends.

To those I have sent this to... I cherish our friendship and appreciate all you do.
"Life may not be the party we hoped for... but while we are here we might as well dance!"

[RESORT2ME]

What would you do? You make the choice! Don't look for a punch line; There isn't one! Read it anyway. My question to all of you is: Would you have made the same choice?

At a fundraising dinner for a school that serves learning disabled children,the father of one of the students delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended. After extolling the school and its dedicated staff, he offered a question:

"When not interfered with by outside influences, everything nature does is done with perfection. Yet my son, Shay, cannot learn things as other children do. He cannot understand things as other children do. Where is the natural order of things in my son?"

The audience was stilled by the query.

The father continued. "I believe, that when a child like Shay, physically and mentally handicapped comes into the world, an opportunity to realize true human nature presents itself, and it comes, in the way other people treat that child. Then he told the following story:

Shay and his father had walked past a park where some boys Shay knew were playing baseball. Shay asked,"Do you think they'll let me play?" Shay's father knew that most of the boys would not want someone like Shay on their team, but the father also understood that if his son were allowed to play, it would give him a much-needed sense of belonging and some confidence to be accepted by others in spite of his handicaps.

Shay's father approached one of the boys on the field and asked if Shay could play, not expecting much. The boy looked around for guidance and said, "We're losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we'll try to put him in to bat in the ninth inning."

Shay struggled over to the team's bench put on a team shirt with a broad smile and his Father had a small tear in his eye and warmth in his heart. The boys saw the father's joy at his son being accepted. In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shay's team scored a few runs but was still behind by three. In the top of the ninth inning, Shay put on a glove and played in the right field. Even though no hits came his way, he was obviously ecstatic just to be in the game and on the field, grinning from ear to ear as his father waved to him from the stands. In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shay's team sc ored again. Now, with two outs and the bases loaded, the potential winning run was on base and Shay was scheduled to be next at bat.

At this juncture, do they let Shay bat and give away their chance to win the game? Surprisingly, Shay was given the bat. Everyone knew that a hit was all but impossible 'cause Shay didn't even know how to hold the bat properly, much less connect with the ball.

However, as Shay stepped up to the plate, the pitcher, recognizing the other team putting winning aside for this moment in Shay's life, moved in a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shay could at least be able to make contact. The first pitch came and Shay swung clumsily and missed. The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly towards Shay. As the pitch came in, Shay swung at the ball and hit a slow ground ball right back to the pitcher.

The game would now be over, but the pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could have easily thrown the ball to the first baseman. Shay would have been out and that would have been the end of the game.

Instead, the pitcher threw the ball right over the head of the first baseman, out of reach of all team mates. Everyone from the stands and both teams started yelling, "Shay, run to first! Run to first!" Never in his life had Shay ever ran that far but made it to first base. He scampered down the baseline, wide-eyed and startled.

Everyone yelled, "Run to second, run to second!"
Catching his breath, Shay awkwardly ran towards second, gleaming and struggling to make it to second base. By the time Shay rounded towards second base, the right fielder had the ball, the smallest guy on their team, who had a chance to be the hero for hi s team for the first time. He could have thrown the ball to the second-baseman for the tag, but he understood the pitcher's intentions and he too intentionally threw the ball high and far over the third-baseman's head. Shay ran toward third base deliriously as the runners ahead of him circled the bases toward home.

All were screaming, "Shay, Shay, Shay, all the Way Shay"

As Shay reached third base, the opposing shortstop ran to help him and turned him in the direction of home base, and shouted, "Run Shay" As Shay rounded third, the boys from both teams and those watching were on their feet were screaming, "Shay, run home! Shay ran to home, stepped on the plate, and was cheered as the hero who hit the "grand slam" and won the game for his team.

That day, said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face, the boys from both teams helped bring a piece of true love and humanity into this world.

Shay didn't make it to another summer and died that winter, having never forgotten being the hero and making his Father so happy and coming home and seeing his Mother tearfully embrace her little hero of the day!

AND, NOW A LITTLE FOOTNOTE TO THIS STORY: We all send thousands of jokes through the e-mail without a second thought, but when it comes to sending messages about life choices, people think twice about sharing. The crude, vulgar, and often obscene pass freely through cyberspace, but public discussion about decency is too often suppressed in our school! s and workplaces.

If you're thinking about forwarding this message,chances are that you're probably sorting out the people on your address list that aren't the "appropriate" ones to receive this type of message. Well, the person who sent you this believes that we all can make a difference. We all have thousands of opportunities every single day to help realize the "natural order of things." So many seemingly trivial interactions between two people present us with a choice: Do we pass along a little spark of love and humanity or do we pass up that opportunity to brighten the day of those with us the least able, and leave the world a little bit colder in the process?

A wise man once said every society is judged by how it treats it's least fortunate amongst them.

You now have two choices:
1. Delete
2. Forward
May your day, be a Shay Day,sunny today, tomorrow & always

[RESORT2ME]

Enjoy the movie! [volume]
http://www.mayyoubeblessedmovie.com/

[RESORT2ME]

http://www.inspiringthots.net/movie/best-day.php

[cindi]

THE OLD PHONE
>
>
> When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our
> neighborhood. I remember the polished, old case fastened to the wall. The
> shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the
> telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother talked to
it.
> Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an
> amazing person. Her name was "Information Please" and there was nothing
she
> did not know. Information Please could supply anyone's number and the
> correct time.
>
> My personal experience with the genie-in-a-bottle came one day while my
> mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the
> basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer, the pain was terrible, but
> there seemed no point in crying because there was no one home to give
> sympathy.
>
> I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at
> the stairway. The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the
parlor
> and dragged it to the landing. Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver in the
> parlor and held it to my ear. "Information, please" I said into the
> mouthpiece just above my head.
> A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear.
>
> "Information."
>
> "I hurt my finger..." I wailed into the phone, the tears came readily
enough
> now that I had an audience.
>
> "Isn't your mother home?" came the question.
>
> "Nobody's home but me," I blubbered.
>
> "Are you bleeding?" the voice asked.
>
> "No," I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts."
> "Can you open the icebox?" she asked.
>
> I said I could.
>
> "Then chip off a little bit of ice and hold it to your finger," said the
> voice.
>
> After that, I called "Information Please" for everything. I asked
> her for help with my geography, and she told me where Philadelphia was.
She
> helped me with my math. She told me my pet chipmunk that I had caught in
the
> park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts.
>
> Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary, died. I called,
> Information Please," and told her the sad story. She listened, and then
said
> things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was not consoled. I asked
her,
> "Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all
> families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?"
>
> She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, "Paul always
> remember that there are other worlds to sing in."
>
> Somehow I felt better.
>
> Another day I was on the telephone, "Information Please."
> "Information," said in the now familiar voice. "How do I spell fix?" I
> asked.
>
> All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest. When I was
> nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston. I missed my friend
> very much. "Information Please" belonged in that old wooden box back home
> and I somehow never thought of trying the shiny new phone that sat on the
> table in the hall. As I grew into my teens, the memories of those
childhood
> conversations never really left me.
>
> Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense
of
> security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and
kind
> she was to have spent her time on a little boy.
>
> A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in
Seattle.
> I had about a half-hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes or so on
> the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what
I
> was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information Please."
>
> Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well.
> "Information."
>
> I hadn't planned this, but I heard myself saying, "Could you please tell
me
> how to spell fix?"
>
> There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess your
> finger must have healed by now."
>
> I laughed, "So it's really you," I said. "I wonder if you have any idea
how
> much you meant to me during that time?"
>
> I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your call meant to me.
> I never had any children and I used to look forward to your calls."
>
> I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I
> could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.
>
> "Please do", she said. "Just ask for Sally."
>
> Three months later I was back in Seattle. A different voice answered,
> "Information." I asked for Sally.
>
> "Are you a friend?" she said.
>
> "Yes, a very old friend," I answered.
>
> "I'm sorry to have to tell you this," she said. "Sally had been working
> part-time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks
ago."
>
> Before I could hang up she said, "Wait a minute, did you say your name was
> Paul?" "Yes." I answered.
>
> "Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called.
>
> Let me read it to you."
> The note said, "Tell him there are other worlds to sing in.
> He'll know what I mean."
>
> I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.
>
> Never underestimate the impression you may make on others.
>
> Whose life have you touched today?
>
> Lifting you on eagle's wings. May you find the joy and peace you long for.
>
> Life is a journey ... NOT a guided tour.
>
> I hope you get a blessing from this today.

[RESORT2ME]

Hey Cindi... Sure does my heart good to see a NICE STUFF post that isn't from myself... thanks!

[bigfrank]

Looks like I did something that is worthy of posting here. I had just gotten out of the dentist's office and was out side about to lite up a cigar. A little old lady with a funny looking cane called me over. Mister she said can you help me. I asked what she wanted and all she wanted was to cross Queens Blvd. Without hesitation I took her by the hand and started to cross the street with her. Now if you are unfamiliar with Queens blvd it has a nick name, It is called the Blvd of Deaths because so many pedestrians get hit in that area. We took it slow as she could not walk fast and it took over 20 minutes to get across. By the time we crossed I knew her whole life story. She was 92 but had all her wits and still had a good grip with her hand. I felt I like I was a boy Scot crossing her. At the end she wanted to pay me for crossing the street and of coarse I would not take it. She wanted to give me $5 which was way to much. I brought her right to the front door that she was trying to go to and then she started crying because I would not take the money. As I walked away she started to get louder so I came back. I told her if she had 1 dollar I would take that. She did have a dollar and handed it to me. This made her feel as good as it did me walking her across. She wanted me to stay with her as she offered to buy my breakfast at the diner. I was late already so I could not. Once I saw her inside, I left. There was a pan handler sitting in the middle of the block. He did not have a cup out but I could tell that is what he was. Anyway that Panhandler is now a dollar richer. I ended up doing 2 good deeds in 20 minutes time. When I got home and told my family they were both happy to hear that I did that. I know my son would have helped her across as well which makes me feel good. After thinking about this. I recalled as a child my mother walking home with some heavy shopping bags. She was tired and could not make it and had to stop as she was out of breath. A good Samaritan saw and came over to help her and walked with the bags to our house which was a good 6-7 block walk from there. My mom gave the man a few dollars which he regretably took. I felt bad that I was not with my mom to help her as I was in School but was happy she got the help. I remember this as I was walking the old lady. This is sort of like the Pay it forward movie only it took me a while to do my end.
I meant to post this the other day but I forgot.