May 9, 2012


jaqenthebox:

A sweet lesson on patience. A NYC Taxi driver wrote:I arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a few minutes I honked again. Since this was going to be my last ride of my shift I thought about just driving away, but instead I put the car in park and walked up to the door and knocked.. ‘Just a minute’, answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across… the floor.After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90’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 1940’s movie.By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets.There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboardbox 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 and then asked, ‘Could you drivethrough 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 rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. ‘I don’t have any family left,’ she continued in a soft voice..’The doctor says I don’t have very long.’ I quietly reached over and shut off 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 neighborhood 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 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 to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous 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 wheelchair.‘How much do I owe you?’ She asked, reaching into her purse.‘Nothing,’ I said‘You have to make a living,’ 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, and 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 that 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, 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 may consider a small one.-Story shared by Mr Kahayne Henry, NYC.

jaqenthebox:

A sweet lesson on patience.

A NYC Taxi driver wrote:

I arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a few minutes I honked again. Since this was going to be my last ride of my shift I thought about just driving away, but instead I put the car in park and walked up to the door and knocked.. ‘Just a minute’, answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.

After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90’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 1940’s movie.

By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets.

There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks 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 and 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 rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. ‘I don’t have any family left,’ she continued in a soft voice..’The doctor says I don’t have very long.’ I quietly reached over and shut off 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 neighborhood 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 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 to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous 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 wheelchair.

‘How much do I owe you?’ She asked, reaching into her purse.

‘Nothing,’ I said

‘You have to make a living,’ 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, and 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 that 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, 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 may consider a small one.

-Story shared by Mr Kahayne Henry, NYC.

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March 5, 2012


sound familiar?

The most commonly reported effects include memory lossconstipationfatiguedizzinessnausealightheadednessheadache, dry mouth, anxietypruritus, and diaphoresis.[12] It has also been claimed to cause dimness in vision due to miosis. Some patients have also experienced loss of appetite, nervousness, abdominal paindiarrheaischuriadyspnea, and hiccups,[2] although these symptoms appear in less than 5% of patients taking oxycodone. Rarely, the drug can cause impotence, enlarged prostate gland, and decreased testosterone secretion. Compared to morphine, oxycodone causes less respiratory depressionsedationpruritus, and nausea.[13] As a result, it is generally better tolerated than morphine.[14]

In high doses, overdoses, or in patients not tolerant to opiates, oxycodone can cause shallow breathing, bradycardia, cold, clammy skin, apneahypotensionmiosis (pupil constriction), circulatory collapserespiratory arrest, and death.[2]

[edit]Withdrawal

There is a high risk of experiencing severe withdrawal symptoms if a patient discontinues oxycodone abruptly. Therefore therapy should be discontinued gradually rather than abruptly. People who use oxycodone in a hazardous or harmful fashion are at even higher risk of severe withdrawal symptoms as they tend to use higher than prescribed doses. The symptoms of oxycodone withdrawal are the same as for other opiate based painkillers and may include “anxietypanic attacknauseainsomniamuscle painmuscle weaknessfevers, and other flu like symptoms”.[15]

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November 6, 2011


TODAY MY DAUGHTER TOLD ME TO STOP CALLING HER

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November 3, 2011


I don’t understand

why my daughter would even be interested in a man like this?

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September 14, 2011


Wow.  Great photo.

Wow.  Great photo.

(Source: kayclemmey)

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September 13, 2011


Most wonderful video about the power of love.

(Source: madelinereow)

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Christian the lion

August 28, 2011


You can pull through Cole

tumblr_lmcli2ogYz1qjyhspo1_500.jpg

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August 19, 2011


I believe

that some things actually happen for good reason even though we don’t see it right away.

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August 18, 2011


Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I’ve heard it in the chilliest land
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

Emily Dickinson

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August 13, 2011


I want to believe

that everything is going to be okay.  I want to.  Please God.

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August 12, 2011


Congratulations ANDY

On getting 2 jobs, taking the best one and still interviewing for others.  You rock.  Way to go.  Drugs are for losers.  And you are not a loser.  I hope you see that now.  I am so proud of you.  Keep it up.

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August 10, 2011


fucking mosquitos

I believed in you, I opened my heart to you and your dad.  I welcomed you into my family. I took you on vacation with us.  I fell in love with your girlfriend.  My son has been in trouble.  When I needed help to help him, no one was there. No one wanted to step up. No one would speak the truth to him.  People blamed me. People wanted me to do things.  People thought it was so easy. People should’ve been in my shoes.  I have stood by my son through everything. Sometimes I felt like I was the only one.  I will always stand by my son.  I am not blind, but adolescence is a temporary experience. What should not be temporary is truth, love, forgiveness, understanding, compassion, humor, appreciation, acceptance and respect. None of you are perfect.  As far as I know, most of you have all done pretty much the same things.

So here’s what I think.  There must be something my son does that even his friends don’t think is right.  Because there is no other reason for your father to say he would not welcome or want my son around you or his family.  Especially when I took you with my family.  

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So very tired

Finsh’d my first week as manager at Talbots.  Happily exhausted.

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August 2, 2011


Sometimes I wonder

if they are just setting me up on purpose.  Can people really be this irresponsible?

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