Message-ID: <32958600.1075857087581.JavaMail.evans@thyme>
Date: Wed, 14 Feb 2001 06:58:00 -0800 (PST)
From: andrea.ring@enron.com
To: richard.ring@enron.com
Subject: Fwd: Fw: Baking Cookies
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---------------------- Forwarded by Andrea Ring/HOU/ECT on 02/14/2001 02:57 
PM ---------------------------
   
	
	
	From:  Karen D McIlvoy                           02/14/2001 08:40 AM
	

To: ragan.bond@bhlp.com
cc:  (bcc: Andrea Ring/HOU/ECT)
Subject: Fwd: Fw: Baking Cookies




Subject: Baking Cookies


>
> An elderly man lay dying in his bed. In death's agony, he suddenly
> smelled the aroma of his favorite chocolate chip cookies wafting up
> the stairs. He gathered his remaining strength, and lifted himself
> from the bed. Leaning against the wall, he slowly made his way out
> of the bedroom, and with even greater effort forced himself down the
> stairs, gripping the railing with both hands.
>
> With labored breath, he leaned against the doorframe, gazing into
> the kitchen. Were it not for death's agony, he would have thought
> himself already in heaven: there, spreads out upon newspapers on the
> kitchen table were literally hundreds of his favorite chocolate chip
> cookies.
>
> Was it heaven? Or was it one final act of heroic love from his devoted
> wife, seeing to it that he left this world a happy man? Mustering one
> great final effort, he threw himself toward the table, landing on his
> knees in a rumpled posture. His parched lips parted; the wondrous taste
> of the cookie was already in his mouth; seemingly bringing him back to
> life. The aged and withered hand, shakingly, made its way to a cookie at
> the edge of the table, when it was suddenly smacked with a spatula by his
> wife.
>
> "Stay out of those," she said. "They're for the funeral."
>