An elderly Italian man lay dying in his bed. While suffering the agonies of
impending death, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his favorite Italian
anisette sprinkle 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. With even
greater effort, gripping the railing with both hands, he crawled downstairs.

With labored breath, he leaned against the door frame and gazed into the
kitchen. Where if not for death's agony, he would have thought himself
already in heaven, for there, spread out upon waxed paper on the kitchen
table were literally hundreds of his favorite anisette sprinkled cookies.

Was it heaven? Or was it one final act of heroic love from his devoted,
meticulous and organized love of his Italian wife of sixty years, seeing to
it that he left this world a happy man?

Mustering one great final effort, he threw himself towards the table,
landing on his knees in a crumpled 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 trembled on its way to a cookie
at the edge of the table, when it was suddenly smacked with a spatula by his
wife......

"Back off!" she said, "They're for the funeral."


Hmmmm.

I wonder who this reminds you of?

Dimitri

"Dimitri" > wrote in message
news
> An elderly Italian man lay dying in his bed. While suffering the agonies
of
> impending death, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his favorite Italian
> anisette sprinkle 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. With even
> greater effort, gripping the railing with both hands, he crawled
downstairs.
>
> With labored breath, he leaned against the door frame and gazed into the
> kitchen. Where if not for death's agony, he would have thought himself
> already in heaven, for there, spread out upon waxed paper on the kitchen
> table were literally hundreds of his favorite anisette sprinkled cookies.
>
> Was it heaven? Or was it one final act of heroic love from his devoted,
> meticulous and organized love of his Italian wife of sixty years, seeing
to
> it that he left this world a happy man?
>
> Mustering one great final effort, he threw himself towards the table,
> landing on his knees in a crumpled 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 trembled on its way to a
cookie
> at the edge of the table, when it was suddenly smacked with a spatula by
his
> wife......
>
> "Back off!" she said, "They're for the funeral."
>
>
> Hmmmm.
>
> I wonder who this reminds you of?
>
> Dimitri
>
>

Shame, Shame, Shame on you Demitri ;-)
Ah, no "jam lady" in this Barbara .;-)