"Forget it! Don't worry about it! It's not written down and they'll never know. Why are you making such a fuss about fixing a clamp on the door? You didn't sign a written contract and no court of law will enforce a verbal agreement of that nature," said the electrician. "That's the whole point!" said the carpenter. "I didn't sign a contract, but I made a promise. The promise I made was to do quality work. To get the job done to the customer's satisfaction. I promised to make good on the work for which I was hired.
I've had many reports of the Remembrance Sunday service held at Dickleburgh (in Norfolk, England) this year, mostly about the preacher. Since Dickleburgh has a historic connection with the Americans from the time of Second World War, they always invite the American Air Base at Mildenhall in Suffolk to join them for the service, and always invite the current American air force chaplain to preach.
On the Sunday afternoon following Thanksgiving, when I was in seventh grade, it began to snow. It started slowly and undramatically -- much like any number of other snows I had experienced growing up in Detroit. The sky turned the shade of dirty wool and the flakes danced through the wind as in one of those glass balls that you invert. Little by little the sidewalks whitened, and soon the neighborhood was alive with the rasping sound of shovels. Before long the roads were filled and you could no longer see the curb.