Read Online Chicken Soup for the Bride's Soul by Jack Canfield - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jack Canfield
Ads: Link
pulled up in their rusty maroon Oldsmobile. But my wedding dress wasn’t one of them; I planned on saving it for my daughter.
They walked hesitantly up the driveway. The daughter stayed near her mom as they walked around the deck and lawn looking over the piles on the tables. They picked up an item or two but didn’t appear interested in buying anything.
Just when I thought they would leave, the mom turned to me. “You wouldn’t happen to have an old prom dress, about size 16, would you? We have been looking everywhere.” She paused. “My daughter is getting married in a few weeks and we want something nice for her to wear.”
I didn’t answer right away, so they started back down the driveway.
“Wait! Wait just a minute.” Without stopping to think, I hurried inside to the extra closet, pulled out the large gray bag and rushed to catch them before they drove away.
“I don’t have a prom dress. But, would you like to try on my wedding gown?”
The young lady smiled at her mom and then at me.
“Yes, please,” she answered timidly and got out of the car.
Although I invited them inside the house, they insisted the garage would be fine. I was embarrassed at its condition, but they didn’t seem to mind at all. Giving them some privacy, I steeled myself. It felt . . . right. Still, I wondered if I would have regrets.
My worry evaporated when I peeked at the bride-to-be in my garage. She stood on a battered red milk crate, staring down at the dress, beaming as her misty-eyed mom smoothed the lace sleeves of the antique-white dress. Both seemed oblivious to the lawn tractor, auto parts and oil cans surrounding them.
Any lingering regrets faded when I heard her mom say, “This is it. It’s you, honey.”
I stepped back, afraid to intrude on their personal moment—a moment as special as mine so many years before.
It was a few minutes before they came out of the garage.
“How much do you want for the dress?” asked the daughter.
I hadn’t even thought of that. I had no idea what to charge. “How much do you have?”
Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a wad of crumpled, damp dollar bills and counted it out. “I have seventeen dollars, that’s it, and I bet it’s not enough.” Regretfully, she started to put the bulky gray bag on a table.
“Sold!” I blurted, surprising us both.
I cried as they drove away.
Oh, not tears of mourning for my wedding gown. I cried at an important revelation. I realized that—although my pocketbook didn’t hold much—my heart was full of priceless memories. My shopping experience with my mom and my wedding day will be in my heart forever. The dress hadn’t made those days special; love had.
Nora E. Kessel
Given the Green Light
S ometimes the heart sees what is invisible to the eye.
H. Jackson Brown Jr.
It was June 14, 1951, my last official day of nursing school at St. John’s Hospital in Tulsa, Oklahoma. I hurried to finish my late shift on Three North—my wedding was only two hours away.
Everything was necessarily jammed together in my life because the Korean War had started and Uncle Sam called my fiancé to serve. Our plans—in fact, our entire lives— were suddenly turned upside down. Besides worrying whether my darling would return from war, I was faced with immediate and chaotic superficial changes.
Our wedding plans were moved up six months and slashed to the bone. With both of us fresh out of school, there was no time to accrue money. So the big ceremony shrank down to the minister, my fiancé’s mother, my housemother and us.
Even the $120 white satin wedding dress at Mrs. Ramsey’s wedding shop was out. Instead, I would buy a white street dress for $30. I called Mrs. Ramsey.
“What a tough break,” she said. “But I’ve got a suggestion. If your heart isn’t set on that white street dress, I could credit what you’ve put down to the lovely bridesmaid’s dress your friend is holding for you to wear in her September
They walked hesitantly up the driveway. The daughter stayed near her mom as they walked around the deck and lawn looking over the piles on the tables. They picked up an item or two but didn’t appear interested in buying anything.
Just when I thought they would leave, the mom turned to me. “You wouldn’t happen to have an old prom dress, about size 16, would you? We have been looking everywhere.” She paused. “My daughter is getting married in a few weeks and we want something nice for her to wear.”
I didn’t answer right away, so they started back down the driveway.
“Wait! Wait just a minute.” Without stopping to think, I hurried inside to the extra closet, pulled out the large gray bag and rushed to catch them before they drove away.
“I don’t have a prom dress. But, would you like to try on my wedding gown?”
The young lady smiled at her mom and then at me.
“Yes, please,” she answered timidly and got out of the car.
Although I invited them inside the house, they insisted the garage would be fine. I was embarrassed at its condition, but they didn’t seem to mind at all. Giving them some privacy, I steeled myself. It felt . . . right. Still, I wondered if I would have regrets.
My worry evaporated when I peeked at the bride-to-be in my garage. She stood on a battered red milk crate, staring down at the dress, beaming as her misty-eyed mom smoothed the lace sleeves of the antique-white dress. Both seemed oblivious to the lawn tractor, auto parts and oil cans surrounding them.
Any lingering regrets faded when I heard her mom say, “This is it. It’s you, honey.”
I stepped back, afraid to intrude on their personal moment—a moment as special as mine so many years before.
It was a few minutes before they came out of the garage.
“How much do you want for the dress?” asked the daughter.
I hadn’t even thought of that. I had no idea what to charge. “How much do you have?”
Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a wad of crumpled, damp dollar bills and counted it out. “I have seventeen dollars, that’s it, and I bet it’s not enough.” Regretfully, she started to put the bulky gray bag on a table.
“Sold!” I blurted, surprising us both.
I cried as they drove away.
Oh, not tears of mourning for my wedding gown. I cried at an important revelation. I realized that—although my pocketbook didn’t hold much—my heart was full of priceless memories. My shopping experience with my mom and my wedding day will be in my heart forever. The dress hadn’t made those days special; love had.
Nora E. Kessel
Given the Green Light
S ometimes the heart sees what is invisible to the eye.
H. Jackson Brown Jr.
It was June 14, 1951, my last official day of nursing school at St. John’s Hospital in Tulsa, Oklahoma. I hurried to finish my late shift on Three North—my wedding was only two hours away.
Everything was necessarily jammed together in my life because the Korean War had started and Uncle Sam called my fiancé to serve. Our plans—in fact, our entire lives— were suddenly turned upside down. Besides worrying whether my darling would return from war, I was faced with immediate and chaotic superficial changes.
Our wedding plans were moved up six months and slashed to the bone. With both of us fresh out of school, there was no time to accrue money. So the big ceremony shrank down to the minister, my fiancé’s mother, my housemother and us.
Even the $120 white satin wedding dress at Mrs. Ramsey’s wedding shop was out. Instead, I would buy a white street dress for $30. I called Mrs. Ramsey.
“What a tough break,” she said. “But I’ve got a suggestion. If your heart isn’t set on that white street dress, I could credit what you’ve put down to the lovely bridesmaid’s dress your friend is holding for you to wear in her September
Similar Books
