y’all that live in Eurpoe, heres a substitute’ been to the USA?? or other parts of the world?
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Been to an NFL game? No
Been to Canada? Yes
Visited Florida? Yes
Visited Mexico? Yes
Visited Europe? Yes
Visited Vegas? Yes
Visited Los Angeles? Yes, I live in California
Eaten alone at a restaurant? Yes
Danced in the rain? Probably when I was young
Gone skinny dipping? Yes
Ability to read music? Yes
Rode a motorcycle? No
Ridden a horse ? Yes
Stayed in a hospital? Yes
Been snow / water skiing? Snow skiing, Yes; Water skiing, No
Been to Disney World or Disney Land? Yes, both
Been to any other theme parks? Yes, Universal and Knott’s Berry Farm
Slept outside? Yes
Driven a stick shift? No
Ridden in an 18 wheeler? No
Eaten Escargot? No
Been on a cruise? Yes
Run out of gas? Yes
Been on TV? Yes, on Court TV while I was working as a court clerk.
Eaten Sushi? Yes, probably at least once every two weeks.
Eaten Chocolate covered ants? No
Went zip-lining? No
Scuba diving? No
Mountain climbing? No
Cave hunting? No
Genealogy research? No
Exploring cemeteries? No
Historical societies? No
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Yes, I answered the Florida question 
I was supposed to go to NYC this year, but we know what happened, so travel was a no-no.
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I was seriously wondering whether NFL stood for Netflix! 
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Been to an NFL game? No
Been to Latvia? No
Visited Estonia? No
Visited Spain? No
Visited the USA? No
Visited Helsinki? Yes
Visited Stockholm? Yes
Eaten alone at a restaurant? Sure
Danced in the rain? I only recall walks in the rainy forest in my younger years
Gone skinny dipping? Absolutely not!
Ability to read music? To some extend, but not for singing.
Rode a motorcycle? No, but my sister loves it.
Ridden a horse ? Yes, but not on a regular basis
Stayed in a hospital? No
Been snow / water skiing? No
Been to Disney World or Disney Land? No
Been to any other theme parks? Not really. Only an amusement park, but not in this century.
Slept outside? No
Driven a stick shift? No
Ridden in an 18 wheeler? No
Eaten Escargot? I happen to be a vegetarian.
Been on a cruise? No
Run out of gas? I can safely say that would never happen to me.
Been on TV? Not that I’m aware of …
Eaten Sushi? I once had one piece of vegetarian sushi. 
Eaten Chocolate covered ants? No, thank you.
Went zip-lining? Not as far as I remember
Scuba diving? No
Mountain climbing? No
Cave hunting? How could I even see my prey in that dark cave? 
Genealogy research? No
Exploring cemeteries? Sounds a bit morbid … 
Historical societies? I’m not a member of any.
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@frustratedwriter, maybe add one more question,
Visited any country in Asia?
Just because we are Vikiers.
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No, unfortunately not.
Met anyone from an Asian country? Yes
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If you ever get the chance to visit Korea, make sure to include a trip to Jeju Island. It is not only gorgeous but pristine clean. I’ve been to the Hawaiian islands many times but I enjoyed Jeju Island more.
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Not yet, every time I planned to go, something happened TT
@mirjam_465 that’s funny. I do happen to like watching movie / series / book reviews on YT, but I’ve never come across this channel before.
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Loved it. 
I want to share it, but how? Copy it on my FB timeline?
I just copied and put it on here
would love to visit jeju island, Korea, china, taiwan, Hawaiian Islands, spain, England and Ireeland,Scotland,Wales, just say the whole world! as for meeting someone from asn asian country? yep I did, Korean and did meet a couple of Chinese people too. places where my ancestors came from
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can’t do too many of these!!
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wish…
we moms know the tragedy of misunderstanding, mine has been 3 yr. and it still hurts so y’all pay attention, mom isn’t going to be here much longer, forgive,
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and due to the hurt and pain, heres one of comfort
I have put a lot on here this morning, I hope someone listens!
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this may be too long for this
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DID GOD RIDE THE BROOKLYN SUBWAY
Marcel Sternberger was a methodical man of nearly 50, with bushy white hair, guileless brown eyes, and the bouncing enthusiasm of a czardas dancer of his native Hungary. He always took the 9:09 Long Island Railroad train from his suburban home to Woodside, N.Y…, where he caught a subway into the city.
On the morning of January 10, 1948, Sternberger boarded the 9:09 as usual. En route, he suddenly decided to visit Laszlo Victor, a Hungarian friend who lived in Brooklyn and was ill.
Accordingly, at Ozone Park, Sternberger changed to the subway for Brooklyn, went to his friend’s house, and stayed until midafternoon. He then boarded a Manhattan-bound subway for his Fifth Avenue office. Here is Marcel’s incredible story:
The car was crowded, and there seemed to be no chance of a seat. But just as I entered, a man sitting by the door suddenly jumped up to leave, and I slipped into the empty place. I’ve been living in New York long enough not to start conversations with strangers. But being a photographer, I have the peculiar habit of analyzing people’s faces, and I was struck by the features of the passenger on my left. He was probably in his late 30s, and when he glanced up, his eyes seemed to have a hurt expression in them. He was reading a Hungarian-language newspaper, and something prompted me to say in Hungarian, “I hope you don’t mind if I glance at your paper.”
The man seemed surprised to be addressed in his native language. But he answered politely, “You may read it now. I’ll have time later on.”
During the half-hour ride to town, we had quite a conversation. He said his name was Bela Paskin. A law student when World War II started, he had been put into a German labor battalion and sent to the Ukraine. Later he was captured by the Russians and put to work burying the German dead. After the war, he covered hundreds of miles on foot until he reached his home in Debrecen, a large city in eastern Hungary.
I myself knew Debrecen quite well, and we talked about it for a while. Then he told me the rest of his story. When he went to the apartment once occupied by his father, mother, brothers and sisters, he found strangers living there. Then he went upstairs to the apartment that he and his wife once had. It also was occupied by strangers. None of them had ever heard of his family.
As he was leaving, full of sadness, a boy ran after him, calling “Paskin bacsi! Paskin bacsi!” That means “Uncle Paskin.” The child was the son of some old neighbors of his. He went to the boy’s home and talked to his parents. “Your whole family is dead,” they told him. “The Nazis took them and your wife to Auschwitz.”
Auschwitz was one of the worst Nazi concentration camps. Paskin gave up all hope. A few days later, too heartsick to remain any longer in Hungary, he set out again on foot, stealing across border after border until he reached Paris. He managed to immigrate to the United States in October 1947, just three months before I met him.
All the time he had been talking, I kept thinking that somehow his story seemed familiar. A young woman whom I had met recently at the home of friends had also been from Debrecen; she had been sent to Auschwitz; from there she had been transferred to work in a German munitions factory. Her relatives had been killed in the gas chambers. Later she was liberated by the Americans and was brought here in the first boatload of displaced persons in 1946.
Her story had moved me so much that I had written down her address and phone number, intending to invite her to meet my family and thus help relieve the terrible emptiness in her life.
It seemed impossible that there could be any connection between these two people, but as I neared my station, I fumbled anxiously in my address book. I asked in what I hoped was a casual voice, “Was your wife’s name Marya?”
He turned pale. “Yes!” he answered. “How did you know?”
He looked as if he were about to faint.
I said, “Let’s get off the train.” I took him by the arm at the next station and led him to a phone booth. He stood there like a man in a trance while I dialed her phone number.
It seemed hours before Marya Paskin answered. (Later I learned her room was alongside the telephone, but she was in the habit of never answering it because she had so few friends and the calls were always for someone else. This time, however, there was no one else at home and, after letting it ring for a while, she responded.)
When I heard her voice at last, I told her who I was and asked her to describe her husband. She seemed surprised at the question, but gave me a description. Then I asked her where she had lived in Debrecen, and she told me the address.
Asking her to hold the line, I turned to Paskin and said, “Did you and your wife live on such-and-such a street?”
“Yes!” Bela exclaimed. He was white as a sheet and trembling.
“Try to be calm,” I urged him. “Something miraculous is about to happen to you. Here, take this telephone and talk to your wife!”
He nodded his head in mute bewilderment, his eyes bright with tears. He took the receiver, listened a moment to his wife’s voice, then suddenly cried, “This is Bela! This is Bela!” and he began to mumble hysterically. Seeing that the poor fellow was so excited he couldn’t talk coherently, I took the receiver from his shaking hands.
“Stay where you are,” I told Marya, who also sounded hysterical. “I am sending your husband to you. We will be there in a few minutes.”
Bela was crying like a baby and saying over and over again. “It is my wife. I go to my wife!”
At first I thought I had better accompany Paskin, lest the man should faint from excitement, but I decided that this was a moment in which no strangers should intrude. Putting Paskin into a taxicab, I directed the driver to take him to Marya’s address, paid the fare, and said goodbye.
Bela Paskin’s reunion with his wife was a moment so poignant, so electric with suddenly released emotion, that afterward neither he nor Marya could recall much about it.
“I remember only that when I left the phone, I walked to the mirror like in a dream to see if maybe my hair had turned gray,” she said later. “The next thing I know, a taxi stops in front of the house, and it is my husband who comes toward me. Details I cannot remember; only this I know—that I was happy for the first time in many years…
“Even now it is difficult to believe that it happened. We have both suffered so much; I have almost lost the capability to not be afraid. Each time my husband goes from the house, I say to myself, “Will anything happen to take him from me again?”
Her husband is confident that no horrible misfortune will ever again befall the. “Providence has brought us together,” he says simply. “It was meant to be.”
Skeptical persons will no doubt attribute the events of that memorable afternoon to mere chance. But was it chance that made Marcel Sternberger suddenly decide to visit his sick friend and hence take a subway line that he had never ridden before? Was it chance that caused the man sitting by the door of the car to rush out just as Sternberger came in? Was it chance that caused Bela Paskin to be sitting beside Sternberger, reading a Hungarian newspaper’
Was it chance—or did God ride the Brooklyn subway that afternoon’
Paul Deutschman, Great Stories Remembered, edited and compiled by Joe L. Wheeler
MOTIVATION & ,PURPOSE comes to mind
thats what I am talking about.