I wasn't sure that I would get to post today, Walter has been trying to link the two computers together, and in doing somehow lost the ability to connect to the net, but as you can see I am back , so as Marcus (one of my sons) said you will just have to bear with me again.

He gives me a hard time about a lot of things, but this is the message he wrote in my Mothers Day card a few years ago, so he always redeems himself.

Dear Mum,

Wishing you a wonderful Mother's Day,

Thank you for your love

support

encouragement

willingness to help

care

understanding

enthusiasm

and DNA

You are a great Mum,

I love you, Marcus

I am blessed with wonderful children, and thank God every day for allowing me to be their mother.

My friends in San Diego sent me this, hope you all enjoy it too~~~~~~~

Twenty years ago I drove a cab for a living. When I arived at 2.30am, the building was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window.

Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away.

But, I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation.. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs assistance, I reasoned to myself.

So I walked to te door and knocked. "Just a minute," answered a frail elderly voice. I could hear something heavy being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80's stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on, it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie. By her side was a small suitcase. The apartment looked as though no one had lved in it for years.

All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the wall, no knicknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

"Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness.

"It's nothing," I told her "I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother to be treated". "Oh, you're such a good boy", she said.

When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, then asked, "Could you drive through downtown?" It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly. "Oh, I don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice," I looked in the rearview mirror. Her eyes were glistening. "I don't have any family left," she continued. "The doctor says I don't have very long."

I quietly reached over and shut of the meter. "What route would you like me to take? I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighbourhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl. Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and she would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I'm tired. Let's go now". We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.

Two orderlies came out as soon as the cab pulled up. They were solicitious and intent,watching her every move. They must have been expecting her. I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a weelchair.

"How much do I owe you?" she asked reaching into her purse. "Nothing," I said. "You have to make a lving," she answered. "There are other passengers," I responded. Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly. "You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank you". I squeezed her hand then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.

I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly, lost in thought. For the rest of the day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift?What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, and then driven away? On a quick review, I don't think That I have done anything more important in my life.

We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware--beautifully wrapped in what others consider a small one.

People may not remember exactly what you did, or what you said ~~but~~they will always remember how you made them feel.