Thursday, September 25, 2008

An Act of Kindness

President Abraham Lincoln often visited hospitals to talk with wounded soldiers during the Civil War. Once, doctors pointed out a young soldier who was near death and Lincoln went over to his bedside.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" asked the President.

The soldier obviously didn't recognize Lincoln, and with some effort he was able to whisper, "Would you please write a letter to my mother?"

A pen and paper were provided and the President carefully began writing down what the young man was able to say:

"My dearest mother, I was badly hurt while doing my duty. I'm afraid I'm not going to recover. Don't grieve too much for me, please. Kiss Mary and John for me. May God bless you and father."

The soldier was too weak to continue, so Lincoln signed the letter for him and added, "Written for your son by Abraham Lincoln."

The young man asked to see the note and was astonished when he discovered who had written it. "Are you really the President?" he asked.

"Yes I am," Lincoln replied quietly. Then he asked if there was anything else he could do.

"Would you please hold my hand?" the soldier asked. "It will help to see me through to the end."

In the hushed room, the tall gaunt President took the boy's hand in his and spoke warm words of encouragement until death came.

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Missed Opportunities

I had offered to watch my 3-year-old daughter, Ramanda, so that my wife could go out with a friend. I was getting some work done while Ramanda appeared to be having a good time in the other room. No problem, I figured. But then it got a little too quiet and I yelled out, "What are you doing, Ramanda?" No response. I repeated my question and heard her say, "Oh...nothing." Nothing? What does "nothing" mean?

I got up from my desk and ran out into the living room, whereupon I saw her take off down the hall. I chased her up the stairs and watched her as her little behind made a hard left into the bedroom. I was gaining on her! She took off for the bathroom. Bad move. I had her cornered. I told her to turn around. She refused. I pulled out my big, mean, authoritative Daddy voice, "Young lady, I said turn around!"

Slowly, she turned toward me. In her hand was what was left of my wife's new lipstick. And every square inch of her face was covered with bright red (except her lips of course)!

As she looked up at me with fearful eyes, lips trembling, I heard every voice that had been shouted to me as a child. "How could you...You should know better than that...How many times have you been told...What a bad thing to do..." It was just a matter of my picking out which old message I was going to use on her so that she would know what a bad girl she had been. But before I could let loose, I looked down at the sweatshirt my wife had put on her only an hour before. In big letters it said, "I'M A PERFECT LITTLE ANGEL!" I looked back up into her tearful eyes and instead of seeing a bad girl who didn't listen, I saw a child of God...a perfect little angel full of worth, value and a wonderful spontaneity that I had come dangerously close to shaming out of her.

"Sweetheart, you look beautiful! Let's take a picture so Mommy can see how special you look." I took the picture and thanked God that I didn't miss the opportunity to reaffirm what a perfect little angel He had given me.

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Your Happiness, Your Responsibility

"You are the only one who can make you happy." We have all heard that so many times in our lives.

There are times it is a pretty tough pill to swallow. In reality, the people that surround you have a huge impact on your current mood. When your children are grumpy in the morning, you find a nice pile the dog left you over night, you hit the road and the traffic won't allow you your normal speed, then when you get to work and your co-worker called in sick... these are all things that might contribute to your overall Happiness of the day.

However, moods and temporary emotions are not the same as happiness. Happiness exists when you look at the overall picture of your life and you smile, that is happiness. You know those times when you can't wait for your children to go to bed, then later you check on the kids and you almost cry because they look exactly like angels... YOUR ANGELS, sleeping so sweetly and soundly. You can hardly remember a time of irritation with them. That is Happiness.

As life progresses and changes, we realize that who we are, (what makes us, us)... that is what we are responsible for. We know that immediate gratification or irritation only pacifies or deteriorates our emotional stimuli short term. Our global view of how we see ourselves determines our state of mind. Our state of mind determines our Happiness.

So, how do we take control of our emotions and find the path of Happiness? This seems to be the million dollar question. There are tons of books on or related to the subject. You could read and practice until you are completely confused. Or, we could spend the rest of our life introspectively evaluating what makes us happy. Which might take more time and energy and actually frustrate us more.

How about this? What if we looked at ourselves and decided what we liked and didn't like and set about making changes. It doesn't have to be major alterations. Maybe you are tired of your house but can't afford to move. Try painting the living room or buying flowers to set on the kitchen table. If you haven't had a vacation for awhile and just can't afford to take that cruise, go camping instead.

Maybe the issues are more personal or internal. Do you get mad too easily? Learn yoga or meditation. Are you having marital problems? Visit a counselor. Are the kids having discipline issues? Determine the major issues, establish guidelines on how you are going to correct the problem and stick to it.

You may be saying, 'Sure, that sounds so easy but...' Of course it sounds easy. Problems are always easier to talk about than to take the obvious actions to fix them. But, for the most part, things are as difficult or as easy as we determine them to be. Sometimes we just make things harder than necessary.

If your unHappiness stems from a situation beyond your control then find other ways to compensate. If, for example, money is so tight and no apparent windfall is coming your way any time soon, find inexpensive entertainment. Backyard ballgames, picnics in the park, movie night with popcorn and snacks in your bedroom are a few alternatives to an expensive night out. If the issues are more serious and you feel powerless, that is the time to seek professional help.

Otherwise, look in the mirror and be glad. If you don't like what you see, change it. Make the solution that simple!

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Ten Qualities of an Effective Team Player

If you had the opportunity to start a new team and select anyone from your organization to be on it, who would you pick? Assuming that people have the right technical skills for the work to be done, what other factors would you use to select your team members?

Teams need strong team players to perform well. But what defines such people? Read on.

Demonstrates reliability

You can count on a reliable team member who gets work done and does his fair share to work hard and meet commitments. He or she follows through on assignments. Consistency is key. You can count on him or her to deliver good performance all the time, not just some of the time.

Communicates constructively

Teams need people who speak up and express their thoughts and ideas clearly, directly, honestly, and with respect for others and for the work of the team. That's what it means to communicate constructively. Such a team member does not shy away from making a point but makes it in the best way possible — in a positive, confident, and respectful manner.

Listens actively

Good listeners are essential for teams to function effectively. Teams need team players who can absorb, understand, and consider ideas and points of view from other people without debating and arguing every point. Such a team member also can receive criticism without reacting defensively. Most important, for effective communication and problem solving, team members need the discipline to listen first and speak second so that meaningful dialogue results.

Functions as an active participant

Good team players are active participants. They come prepared for team meetings and listen and speak up in discussions. They're fully engaged in the work of the team and do not sit passively on the sidelines.

Team members who function as active participants take the initiative to help make things happen, and they volunteer for assignments. Their whole approach is can-do: "What contribution can I make to help the team achieve success?"

Shares openly and willingly

Good team players share. They're willing to share information, knowledge, and experience. They take the initiative to keep other team members informed.

Much of the communication within teams takes place informally. Beyond discussion at organized meetings, team members need to feel comfortable talking with one another and passing along important news and information day-to-day. Good team players are active in this informal sharing. They keep other team members in the loop with information and expertise that helps get the job done and prevents surprises.

Cooperates and pitches in to help

Cooperation is the act of working with others and acting together to accomplish a job. Effective team players work this way by second nature. Good team players, despite differences they may have with other team members concerning style and perspective, figure out ways to work together to solve problems and get work done. They respond to requests for assistance and take the initiative to offer help.

Exhibits flexibility

Teams often deal with changing conditions — and often create changes themselves. Good team players roll with the punches; they adapt to ever-changing situations. They don't complain or get stressed out because something new is being tried or some new direction is being set.

In addition, a flexible team member can consider different points of views and compromise when needed. He or she doesn't hold rigidly to a point of view and argue it to death, especially when the team needs to move forward to make a decision or get something done. Strong team players are firm in their thoughts yet open to what others have to offer — flexibility at its best.

Works as a problem-solver

Teams, of course, deal with problems. Sometimes, it appears, that's the whole reason why a team is created — to address problems. Good team players are willing to deal with all kinds of problems in a solutions-oriented manner. They're problem-solvers, not problem-dwellers, problem-blamers, or problem-avoiders. They don't simply rehash a problem the way problem-dwellers do. They don't look for others to fault, as the blamers do. And they don't put off dealing with issues, the way avoiders do.

Team players get problems out in the open for discussion and then collaborate with others to find solutions and form action plans.

Treats others in a respectful and supportive manner

Team players treat fellow team members with courtesy and consideration — not just some of the time but consistently. In addition, they show understanding and the appropriate support of other team members to help get the job done. They don't place conditions on when they'll provide assistance, when they'll choose to listen, and when they'll share information. Good team players also have a sense of humor and know how to have fun (and all teams can use a bit of both), but they don't have fun at someone else's expense. Quite simply, effective team players deal with other people in a professional manner.

Shows commitment to the team

Strong team players care about their work, the team, and the team's work. They show up every day with this care and commitment up front. They want to give a good effort, and they want other team members to do the same.

Team players who show commitment don't come in any particular style or personality. They don't need to be rah-rah, cheerleader types. In fact, they may even be soft-spoken, but they aren't passive. They care about what the team is doing and they contribute to its success — without needing a push.

Team players with commitment look beyond their own piece of the work and care about the team's overall work. In the end, their commitment is about winning — not in the sports sense of beating your opponent but about seeing the team succeed and knowing they have contributed to this success. Winning as a team is one of the great motivators of employee performance. Good team players have and show this motivation.

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the common grouses

One of the common grouses I hear, hindering people from going into a particular challenge is that they believe they don’t have the “X-factor” to excel in it. Usually, it’s after one or two failed attempts in that same domain. Or something so new that they didn’t know what to expect. They’ll say things like “Nah, I’ve tried before and I know I suck”, “I’m just not cut out for that” or “I can never be as good as him” and abandon the whole idea just to save themselves the embarrassment. Even when it’s something that’ll definitely expand their lives if they’ll just give it another try.

I admit I’m not spared of this too. Besides judging myself previously for lacking the talent in sales, I used to think I was a lousy dancer… hehehe. I was a member of the high school choir and during one of our overseas concerts; I was handpicked to take part in an all girls performance item. We had to sing and dance a little at the same time. A few of us - myself included - were so “stiff” that we had to be given remedial lessons in our female instructor’s hotel room every other night before the concert! Yes, we were that bad!

Hardly anyone would comment I’m a bad dancer now whenever my friends and I go clubbing. In case you’re wondering, nope, I didn’t take any dancing lessons. I just changed my thinking. In fact, when I look at it, it’s probably the same process of thoughts that lead me to my sales success. Here’s how :

(1) Expect the Frustration

Trust me, when you’re being challenged with some role or work you’ve previously labeled yourself as having no talent for, the first thing to do is just to expect the frustration. It’ll inevitably bring back the nasty memories of how everyone jeered at you when you were on the stage not knowing what to say, for instance. Your ego is likely to convey that underlying message that you shouldn’t speak in public anymore just to avoid the pain of getting hurt or disappointed again.

Well, don’t beat yourself up over it. Be aware that this is your subconscious’ way of protecting you. But despite the good intentions, choosing to run away from it is literally putting yourself on dystrophy mode. You’ll never be able to do well in public speaking not because it’s true you lacked the talent but rather because you’ve decided not to give yourself a second shot at it anymore!

(2) Make a Decision & Watch Your Focus Shift

In most of my cases, I realize my frustration and anxiety is at its worse when I’m split on a decision. Whether to take up the challenge or say “no”. The former requires some guts but whenever I do so, the negative energy caused by my frustration soon turned into proactive forces. I’ll start brainstorming ways to alleviate the situation. Such as putting in more effort to practice or research the skill I need to develop.

Strangely at the same time, I’ll find comfort within myself. For example, even though I was worried about affecting the necktie sales, I eventually told myself that my assistance was actually to help my brother-in-law resolve an urgent resource issue, which was far more pressing than a slight drop in Sales.

I find myself focusing on another aspect of the whole situation so much so that it takes the pressure off the results. Think of it this way. Assuming you’ve just taken an examination and the score for a pass is 50 marks. You got 45. If your focus is on passing, I’m sure you’ll feel terrible. But what if your plan is to do better than your previous grade, which was 20 marks? You’ll have achieved 125% improvement, way above what you’ve intended!

(3) Observe > Practice > Review > Practice

When the focus is shifted and the stress to perform is greatly reduced, you’ll gradually build up that self belief that it’s probably not going to be that tough after all. By following up this school of thought with the 4 action steps of observe, practice, review and practice, trust me, you’ll be able to hone the skill that you thought you didn’t have the talent for. Just like what I did to be better in dancing.

After my high school saga, I never really had a chance to dance again. Until my University hostel committee organized a party at a club where we were all invited to the dance floor after the dinner. I was initially reluctant to join them - mainly because I don’t want to embarrass myself - but when everyone at our table popped down to the dance floor, a friend just dragged me by the arm. I didn’t have time to say “no”.

Under the music and shimmering lights, I suddenly realized that everyone was so busy having fun that no one would notice my obscure dance moves! I began to shift my focus. Instead of being conscious about my dance steps, I just concentrate on swaying my body with the music.

And as I did so, I started taking note of how others danced, played copycat a little, review the response from my friend on my moves - well, she didn’t say anything bad - and quickly continued with it. At the end of the day, I was having so much fun that for the first time ever, I felt that dancing wasn’t totally beyond me! As much as I thought it was.

(4) Have Fun In The Process!

Once everything becomes almost second nature to you through your observation, practice, review and continuous practice, what determines if you’ll ever do well in that domain really depends on how much fun you’re beginning to derive from it. Nowadays, I’m usually the one initiating for a chillout at the clubs, occasionally receiving a bonus compliment that I dance quite naturally. And yes, none believed that I used to be so bad in dancing that I had to have remedial lessons.

Do you now enjoy the attention of speaking on the stage? Are you gradually opening up to the idea of breaking ceilings of sales one after another? Will you like to go dancing to the tune of the music and sweating it out again? When you derive a lot of fun and satisfaction from that something didn’t know you could do well it, it will eventually develop an impetus for you to know more, learn more and practice more. That, in turn avalanches your achievement as you become skilled in it.

Though I still face a lot of insecurities in reattempting stuff I used to do badly in - things that I totally felt I wasn’t born with the gift for - such little successes over the years have helped to mitigate that frustration and fear. I know there’s still a chance for me to do well in it.

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Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Hold onto Mom, my Child

Hi all, I am no poetry person, but this small, plain poem did touch me. I'd like to share it with you all: Come, my child, Hold onto Mom's hands. The road to Heaven is too dark. I'm afraid you might be hurt again.Come, hold Mom's hands tightly. Let Mom go with you. Mom, I'm afraid The road to Heaven is too dark. I can't see your hand. Since the fallen walls took sunlight away,I shall never see your gentle eys. Move on, my child, The road ahead has no worries, No books that you can't finish, Nor Dad's complaints, You must remember Dad's face and mine, In the next life, we shall be together again. Don't worry, Mom,The road to Heaven is crowded. There are may classmates and pals. Don't cry; we all say, Anyone's mom is our mom. Mom, every child has a mom, In the days without me, Give your love to other children. Mom, Mom, don't cry. Tears won't shed light on our path. Let us go away, I'll remember your face and Dad's looks. Let's promise, In the next life, we'll be together again. From 21st Century, the author unknownPan. Diligence pays.

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The Beach

The weather was extremely fine when I got up this morning. The sky wore an azurecolor and the cloud was featherlike, floating loosely against the clear sky. Asnormal, my friend and I jumped out of the bed and acted on impulse: We decided to go to the beach nearby.I have never been very keen on port cities such as Portsmouth. But it was hard to resist the temptation of the sunshine and breeze outside. We went on the ten twenty train and got to Portsmouth when the clock at Portsmouth Harbor just ticked eleven o’clock.To be honest I was very impressed with the sea front view at the harbor. There was the blue sea shinning in the sun against the blue sky. Along the edge of the sea there was a handy pavement around one or two meters above the ground. But ofcourse if you fancy coming closer to the sea, you could always walk on the flinty beach.My friend and I walked on the flinty beach and lied down when we got tired. Through my sun glasses, there was the sky, pure blue, overhead and a few white seagulls circling around in the breeze imbibed with sea salt smell. There was nothingbut the clear waving sound in my ears, very soothing and calming.It was a long beach if you add in the South Sea seafront. The tide started to wade early in the afternoon. At one point I was tempted to take off my sandals andwalked right beside the unsettling wave. The water was cold but nice. Beside us, there were of course some other creatures, such as dogs and naughty kids, who couldn’t wait to have their skin to have a taste of the sea.Further away from the pier, there were less people in the view. The beach became wider and more accessible. And maybe because it was expansive, we saw sea kales and see weed growing along the dried beach. The sea kales were blooming and their flowers were white and had an interesting smell. All this looked almost exotic to me and reminded me of the feeling when I read the book The Beach.I think because everyone have their own memories in the past, the same scenery could have different impact or affect on different people. On the way back to theStation there were thousands of people gathering and celebrating football matches. We passed an amusement shop and saw two men looking towards the gathering direction and chatted away. Somewhat one of the guys reminded me of my father. Youknow, if this was not England and if there was a gathering in my hometown, my father would probably be exactly like that guy, wearing that curious and chatty look.Just simply for that, I should say I had enjoyed the trip very much. I have beento a few beaches in my life, and it was interesting to note that I went with different people each time. But this is life, isn’t it? The further you walk along the journey, the more memories you will collect. Like this beach, it brought me back lots of my past memories related to beaches. But in the end nothing matters really. All these memories would just blend together, like many other my memories details of which becoming blurry through the time tunnel, and eventually only to become part of me.

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I Can Fly with My Belief

I have a friend Monty Roberts who owns a horse ranch1 in San Ysidro. He has let me use his house to put on fund-raising events to raise money for youth at risk programs. The last time I was there he introduced me by saying, “I want to tell you why I let Jack use my house. It all goes back to a story about a young man who was the son of an itinerant2 horse trainer who would go from stable to stable, race track to race track, farm to farm and ranch to ranch, training horses. As a result, the boy’s high school career was continually interrupted. When he was a senior, he was asked to write a paper about what he wanted to be and do when he grew up. ” “That night he wrote a seven-page paper describing his goal of owning a horse ranch someday. He wrote about his dream in great detail and he even drew a diagram of a 200-acre ranch, showing the location of all the buildings, the stables and the track. Then he drew a detailed floor plan for a 4,000-square-foot house that would sit on a 200-acre dream ranch. ” “He put a great deal of his heart into the project and the next day he handed it in to the teacher. Two days later he received his paper back. On the front was a large red F with a note that read, ‘See me after class.’ ” “The boy with the dream went to see the teacher after class and asked, ‘Why did I receive an F?’” “The teacher said, ‘This is an unrealistic3 dream for a young boy like you. You have no money. You come from an itinerant family. You have no resources. Owning a horse ranch requires a lot of money. You have to buy the land. You have to pay for the original breeding stock and later you’ll have to pay large stud4 fees. There’s no way you could ever do it.’ Then the teacher added, ‘If you rewrite this paper with a more realistic goal, I will reconsider your grade.’ ” “The boy went home and thought about it long and hard. He asked his father what he should do. His father said, ‘Look, son, you have to make up your own mind on this. However, I think it is a very important decision for you.’ ” “Finally, after sitting with it for a week, the boy turned in the same paper, making no changes at all. He stated, ‘You can keep the F and I’ll keep my dream.’” Monty then turned to the assembled5 group and said, “I tell you this story because you are sitting in my 4,000-square-foot house in the middle of my 200-acre horse ranch. I still have that school paper framed over the fireplace.” He added, “The best part of the story is that two summers ago that same schoolteacher brought 30 kids to camp out on my ranch for a week. When the teacher was leaving, he said, ‘Look, Monty, I can tell you this now. When I was your teacher, I was something of a dream stealer. During those years I stole a lot of kids’ dreams. Fortunately you had enough gumption6 not to give up on yours.’” Don’t let anyone steal your dreams. Follow your heart, no matter what.

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People's interests above everything else

One month has passed since the deadly earthquake in southwest China. An editorial in the Southern Weekly newspaper based in south China's Guangzhou city says the tragedy has transformed China into a country that cares for the life and interests of every single person. The article points out that immediately after the earthquake struck on May 12, media from both home and abroad were allowed to report from the disaster-hit regions, effectively giving the public up to date information. In addition international rescue and medical teams were welcomed with massive relief funds and supplies. The paper says these changes show China's true openness to the world.The Chinese government has made it clear through its actions that saving people's lives and interests is the top priority. State leaders quickly arrived at the scene to guide the rescue effort. National days of mourning have been declared for civilians for the first time.The paper adds that all these concrete emotions and actions are a true reflection of the state's people-oriented policy. It says the policy should be applied in every part of our life and work, because a nation that serves the people surely has a bright future.

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The Ultimate Love Story

One evening I found myself at a conference in Washington D.C. And as fate would have it, inventor Bucky Fuller happened to be making a presentation2 that evening at another conference in the very same hotel. I got to the ballroom3 in time to hear the end of Bucky’s lecture. I in awe4 of this little man in his eighties, with his clear mind, deep wisdom, and boundless energy. At the end of the talk, we walked together through the underground parking lot to his airport limousine5.“I’ve got to go to New York City tonight for another pre-sentation,” he said, looking at me with an anxiousness that I had rarely seen in Bucky.“You know, Anne’s not doing well. I’m very concerned about her.”We hugged.Bucky Fuller had once confided6 to me that he had promised his wife Annie to die before she did, so that he could be there to welcome her when it was her turn. I took the comment as a hope, not a commitment7, which showed how greatly I underestimated8 Buckminster9 Fuller.Shortly after Bucky’s presentation in New York, he was informed that Annie had lapsed10 into a coma11 in a hospital in Los Angels. Doctor felt that there wasn’t a good chance she would regain consciousness12. So Bucky took the first flight he could get. Upon arriving in Los Angeles, he went immediately to Annie’s bedside. Sitting beside her, he closed his eyes.

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Tuesday, September 23, 2008

A country maid

A country maid was walking along with a can of milk upon her head,when she fell into the following train of reflections."The money for which I shall sell this milk will enable me to increase my stock of eggs to three hundred,These eggs,allowing for what may prove addle,and what may be destroyed by vermin,will produce at least two hundred and fifty chickens.The chickens will be fit to carry to market just at the time when poultry is always dear;so that by the new year I cannot fail of having money enough to purchase a new gown.Green-let me consider-yes,green becomes my complexion best .and green it shall be, In this dress I will go to the fair,where all young fellows will strive to have me for a parter;but no-I shall refuse every one of them,and with a disdainful toss turn from them."     Transported with this idea,she could not forbear acting with her head the thought that passed in her mind,when down came the can of milk!And all her imaginary happiness vanished in a moment.

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If I were a boy again

If I were a boy again, I would practice perseverance more often, and never give up a thing because it was or inconvenient. If we want light, we must conquer darkness. Perseverance can sometimes equal genius in its results. “There are only two creatures,” says a proverb, “who can surmount the pyramids—the eagle and the snail.”  If I were a boy again, I would school myself into a habit of attention; I would let nothing come between me and the subject in hand. I would remember that a good skater never tries to skate in two directions at once.  The habit of attention becomes part of our life, if we begin early enough. I often hear grown up people say “ I could not fix my attention on the sermon or book, although I wished to do so” , and the reason is, the habit was not formed in youth.  If I were to live my life over again, I would pay more attention to the cultivation of the memory. I would strengthen that faculty by every possible means, and on every possible occasion. It takes a little hard work at first to remember things accurately; but memory soon helps itself, and gives very little trouble. It only needs early cultivation to become a power.

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the stars

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well That, for all they care, I can go to hell, But on earth indifference is the least We have to dread from man or beast.
How should we like it were stars to burn With a passion for us we could not return? If equal affection cannot be,Let the more loving one be me.
Admirer as I think I am Of stars that do not give a damn, I cannot, now I see them ,say I missed one terribly all day.
Were all stars to disappear or die I should learn to look at an empty sky And feel its total dark sublime, Though this might take me a little time.
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Letter that Changed My Life

  I was not yet 30 years old and was working as a firefighter in the South Bronx's Engine Co. 82, probably the world's most active firehouse at the time. It was warm and sunny, the kind of leisurely Sunday that brought extra activity to the neighborhood and to its firefighters. We must have had 15 or 20 calls that day, the worst being a garbage fire in the rear of an abandoned building, which required a hard pull of 600 feet of cotton-jacketed hose.
Between alarms I would rush to the company office to read Captain Gray's copy of the Sunday New York Times. It was late in the afternoon when I finally got to the Book Review section . As I read it, my blood began to boil. An article blatantly stated what I took to be a calumny -- that William Butler Yeats , the Nobel Prize-winning light of the Irish Literary Renaissance, had transcended his Irishness and was forever to be known as a universal poet.
There were few things I was more proud of than my Irish heritage, and ever since I first picked up a book of his poems from a barracks shelf when I was in the military, Yeats had been my favorite Irish writer, followed by Sean O'Casey and James Joyce.
My ancestors were Irish farmers, fishermen and blue-collar workers, but as far as I can tell, they all had a feeling for literature. It was passed on to my own mother, a telephone operator , who hardly ever sat down without a book in her hands. And at that moment my own fingernails might have been soiled with the soot of the day's fires, but I felt as prepared as any Trinity don to stand up in the court of public opinion and protest. Not only that Yeats had lived his life and written his poetry through the very essence of his Irish sensibility, but that it was offensive to think Irishness -- no matter if it was psychological, social or literary -- was something to be transcended.
My stomach was churning, and I determined not to let an idle minute pass. "Hey, Captain Gray. Could I use your typewriter?" I asked.
The typewriter was so old that I had to use just one finger to type, my strongest one, even though I could type with all ten. I grabbed the first piece of clean paper I could find -- one that had the logo of the Fire Department of the City of New York across the top -- and, hoping there would be a break in the alarms for 20 minutes or so, wrote out a four-paragraph letter of indignation to the editor of the Sunday Book Review(「纽约时报」书评).
Throughout his poetry, I postulated, Yeats yearned for a messiah to lead Ireland out from under the bondage of English rule, and his view of the world and the people in it was fundamentally Irish.
Just as I addressed the envelope, the final alarm of my tour came in, and as I slid down the long brass pole, I felt unexpectedly calm, as if a great rock had been purged from the bottom of my stomach.
I don't know why I felt it my obligation to safeguard the reputation of the world's greatest poet, at least next to Homer and Shakespeare, or to inscribe an apologia for Irish writing. I just knew that I had to write that letter, in the same way a priest has to pray, or a musician has to play an instrument.
Until that point in my life I had not written much of value -- a few poems and short stories, the beginning of a coming-of-age novel. I knew that my writing was anything but refined. Like a beginning artist who loves to draw, I understood that the more one draws, or writes, or does anything, the better the end result will be, and so I wrote often to better control my writing skills, to master them. I sent some material to various magazines and reviews but found no one willing to publish me.
It was a special and unexpected delight, then, when I learned something I'd written would finally see print. Ironically it wasn't one of my poems or short stories -- it was my letter to the Times. I suppose the editor decided to publish it because he was first attracted by the official nature of my stationery (was his staff taking smoke breaks out on the fire escape?), and then by the incongruity of a ghetto firefighter's using words like messianism, for in the lines below my letter it was announced that I was a New York City firefighter. I'd like to think, though, that the editor silently agreed with my thesis.
I remember receiving through the fire department's address about 20 sympathetic and congratulatory letters from professors around the country. These letters made me feel like I was not only a published writer but an opinion maker. It was as if I was suddenly thrust into being someone whose views mattered.
I also received a letter from True magazine and one from The New Yorker, asking for an interview. It was the latter that proved momentous, for when an article titled "Fireman Smith" appeared in that magazine, I received a telephone call from the editor of a large publishing firm who asked if I might be interested in writing a book about my life.
I had little confidence in my ability to write a whole book, though I did intuit that my work as a firefighter was a worthy subject. And so I wrote Report From Engine Co. 82 in six months, and it went on to sell two million copies and to be translated into 12 languages. In the years that followed, I wrote three more best-sellers, and last year published a memoir, A Song for Mary: An Irish-American Memory.
Being a writer had been far from my expectations; being a best-selling author was almost unfathomable. How had it happened? I often found myself thinking about it, marveling at it, and my thoughts always came back to that letter to the New York Times.
For me, the clearest explanation is that I had found the subject I was searching for, one I felt so strongly about that the writing was a natural consequence of the passion I felt. I was to feel this same kind of passion when I began writing about firefighters and, later, when writing about my mother. These are subjects that, to me, represent the great values of human life -- decency, honesty and fairness -- subjects that burn within me as I write.
Over the years, all five of my children have come to me periodically with one dilemma or another. Should I study English or art? Should I go out for soccer or basketball? Should I take a job with this company or that one?
My answer is always the same, yet they still ask, for reassurance is a good and helpful thing. Think about what you're feeling deep down in the pit of your stomach, I tell them, and measure the heat of the fire there, for that is the passion that will flow through your heart. Your education and your experience will guide you toward making a right decision, but your passion will enable you to make a difference in whatever you do.
That's what I learned the day I stood up for Ireland's greatest poet.
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Modern American Universities

Before the 1850's, the United States had a number of small colleges, most of them dating from colonial days. They were small, church connected institutions whose primary concern was to shape the moral character of their students.
Throughout Europe, institutions of higher learning had developed, bearing the ancient name of university. In German university was concerned primarily with creating and spreading knowledge, not morals. Between mid-century and the end of the 1800's, more than nine thousand young Americans, dissatisfied with their training at home, went to Germany for advanced study. Some of them return to become presidents of venerable colleges-----Harvard, Yale, Columbia---and transform them into modern universities. The new presidents broke all ties with the churches and brought in a new kind of faculty. Professors were hired for their knowledge of a subject, not because they were of the proper faith and had a strong arm for disciplining students. The new principle was that a university was to create knowledge as well as pass it on, and this called for a faculty composed of teacher-scholars. Drilling and learning by rote were replaced by the German method of lecturing, in which the professor's own research was presented in class. Graduate training leading to the Ph.D., an ancient German degree signifying the highest level of advanced scholarly attainment, was introduced. With the establishment of the seminar system, graduate student learned to question, analyze, and conduct their own research.
At the same time, the new university greatly expanded in size and course offerings, breaking completely out of the old, constricted curriculum of mathematics, classics, rhetoric, and music. The president of Harvard pioneered the elective system, by which students were able to choose their own course of study. The notion of major fields of study emerged. The new goal was to make the university relevant to the real pursuits of the world. Paying close heed to the practical needs of society, the new universities trained men and women to work at its tasks, with engineering students being the most characteristic of the new regime. Students were also trained as economists, architects, agriculturalists, social welfare workers, and teachers.
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Monday, September 22, 2008

An Empty Box

Once upon a time, a man punished his 5-year-old daughter for using up the family's only roll of expensive gold wrapping paper. Money was tight, and he became even more upset when on Christmas Eve, he saw that the child had pasted the gold paper so as to decorate a shoebox to put under the Christmas tree.
Nevertheless, the next morning the little girl, filled with excitement, brought the gift box to her father and said, "This is for you, Daddy!"
As he opened the box, the father was embarrassed by his earlier overreaction.
But when he opened it, he found it was empty and again his anger flared. "Don't you know, young lady, " he said harshly, "when you give someone a present there's supposed to be something inside the package!"
The little girl looked up at him with tears rolling from her eyes and said: "Daddy, it's not empty. I blew kisses into it until it was all full."
The father was crushed. He fell on his knees and put his arms around his precious little girl. He begged her to forgive him for his unnecessary anger.
An accident took the life of the child only a short time later. It is told that the father kept that little gold box by his bed for all the years of his life. Whenever he was discouraged or faced difficult problems he would open the box, take out an imaginary kiss, and remember the love of this beautiful child who had put it there.
In a very real sense, each of us as human beings have been given an invisible golden box filled with unconditional love and kisses from our children, family, friends and God.
There is no more precious possession anyone could hold.
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Hanover Square

Can it really be sixty-two years ago that I first saw you?
It is truly a lifetime, I know. But as I gaze into your eyes now, it seems like only yesterday that I first saw you, in that small café in Hanover Square.
From the moment I saw you smile, as you opened the door for that young mother and her newborn baby. I knew. I knew that I wanted to share the rest of my life with you.
I still think of how foolish I must have looked, as I gazed at you, that first time. I remember watching you intently, as you took off your hat and loosely shook your short dark hair with your fingers. I felt myself becoming immersed in your every detail, as you placed your hat on the table and cupped your hands around the hot cup of tea, gently blowing the steam away with your pouted lips.
From that moment, everything seemed to make perfect sense to me. The people in the café and the busy street outside all disappeared into a hazy blur. All I could see was you.
All through my life I have relived that very first day. Many, many times I have sat and thought about that the first day, and how for a few fleeting moments I am there, feeling again what is like to know true love for the very first time. It pleases me that I can still have those feelings now after all those years, and I know I will always have them to comfort me.
Not even as I shook and trembled uncontrollably in the trenches, did I forget your face. I would sit huddled into the wet mud, terrified, as the hails of bullets and mortars crashed down around me. I would clutch my rifle tightly to my heart, and think again of that very first day we met. I would cry out in fear, as the noise of war beat down around me. But, as I thought of you and saw you smiling back at me, everything around me would be become silent, and I would be with you again for a few precious moments, far from the death and destruction. It would not be until I opened my eyes once again, that I would see and hear the carnage of the war around me.
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Growing Roots

When I was growing up, I had an old neighbor named Dr. Gibbs. He didn’t look like any doctor I’d ever known. He never yelled at us for playing in his yard. I remember him as someone who was a lot nicer than 1)circumstances warranted.
When Dr. Gibbs wasn’t saving lives, he was planting trees. His house sat on ten acres, and his life’s goal was to make it a forest.
The good doctor had some interesting theories concerning plant 2)husbandry. He came from the “No pain, no gain” school of 3)horticulture. He never watered his new trees, which flew in the face of conventional wisdom. Once I asked why. He said that watering plants spoiled them, and that if you water them, each successive tree generation will grow weaker and weaker. So you have to make things rough for them and 4)weed out the 5)weenie trees early on.
He talked about how watering trees made for shallow roots, and how trees that weren’t watered had to grow deep roots in search of 6)moisture. I took him to mean that deep roots were to be treasured.
So he never watered his trees. He’d plant an oak and, instead of watering it every morning, he’d beat it with a rolled-up newspaper. Smack! Slap! Pow! I asked him why he did that, and he said it was to get the tree’s attention.
Dr. Gibbs 7)went to glory a couple of years after I left home. 8)Every now and again, I walked by his house and looked at the trees that I’d watched him plant some twenty-five years ago. They’re 9)granite strong now. Big and 10)robust. Those trees wake up in the morning and beat their chests and drink their 11)coffee black.
I planted a couple of trees a few years back. Carried water to them for a 12)solid summer. Sprayed them. Prayed over them. The whole nine 13)yards. Two years of 14)coddling has resulted in trees that expect to be 15)waited on hand and foot. Whenever a cold wind blows in, they tremble and chatter their branches. Sissy trees.
Funny things about those trees of Dr. Gibbs’. 16)Adversity and 17)deprivation seemed to benefit them in ways comfort and ease never could.
Every night before I go to bed, I check on my two sons. I stand over them and watch their little bodies, the rising and falling of life within. I often pray for them. Mostly I pray that their lives will be easy. But lately I’ve been thinking that it’s time to change my prayer.
This change has to do with the inevitability of cold winds that hit us at the core. I know my children are going to encounter hardship, and I’m praying they won’t be naive. There’s always a cold wind blowing somewhere.
So I’m changing my prayer. Because life is tough, whether we want it to be or not. Too many times we pray for ease, but that’s a prayer seldom met. What we need to do is pray for roots that reach deep into 18)the Eternal, so when the rains fall and the winds blow, we won’t be 19)swept 20)asunder.
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Lake Of Autumn

I remember quite clearly now when the story happened. The autumn leaves were floating in 1)measure down to the ground, recovering the lake, where we used to swim like children, under the sun was there to shine. That time we used to be happy. Well, I thought we were. But the truth was that you had been 2)longing to leave me, not daring to tell me. On that precious night, watching the lake, vaguely 3)conscious, you said: “Our story is ending.”
The rain was killing the last days of summer. You had been killing my last breath of love, since a long time ago. I still don’t think I’m gonna make it through another love story. You took it all away from me. And there I stand, I knew I was going to be the one left behind. But still I’m watching the lake, vaguely conscious, and I know my life is ending.
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Butterfly Kisses

My newlywed husband said the same thing every morning. "You're beautiful today."
  One glance in the mirror revealed that it was far from the truth.
  A skinny girl with mashed hair on one side of her head and no makeup smiled back at me. I could feel my sticky morning breath.
  “Liar,” I shot back with a grin.
  It was my usual response. My mother's first husband was not a kind man and his verbal and physical abuse forced her and her two children to find a safe place. He showed up on her doorstep one day with roses. She let him in and he beat her with those roses and took advantage of her. Nine months later she gave birth to a 9 lb. 13 oz. baby girl -- me.
  The harsh words we heard growing up took root. I had trouble seeing myself as someone of value. I had been married two years when I surprised myself. My husband wrapped his arms around me and told me I was beautiful.
  “Thank you,” I said.
  The same thin girl with the mousy3 brown hair still stared back at me in the mirror, but somehow the words had finally blossomed in my heart.
  A lot of years have passed. My husband has grey in his hair. I'm no longer skinny. Last week I woke up and my husband's face was inches from mine.
  “What are you doing?” I asked.
  I covered my mouth, trying to hide my morning breath. He reached down and kissed my face.
  “What I do every morning,” he said.
  He leaves in the early hours of the morning while I sleep. I miss our morning conversations, but I had not realized that he continued to tell me that he loved me even while I slept. When he left, I rolled over and hugged my pillow. I envisioned4 the picture of me lightly snoring5 with my mouth open and giggled.
  What a man! My husband understands my past. He's been beside me as I've grown from an unsure young girl to a confident woman, mother, speaker and author.
  But I'm not sure that he understands the part he played in that transition6. The words I heard growing up pierced7 my soul, yet his words pierced even deeper.
  This Anniversary Day I plan to wake early. I want to tell Richard how much I love him. He may look in the mirror and see an extra pound or two, or wish for the day when his hair was dark and curly8, but all I'll see is the man who saw something in me when I couldn't see it myself, and who leaves butterfly kisses, even after twenty-three years of marriage.
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Christmas Story(www.chinesepal.cn)

For many of us, one Christmas stands out from all the others, the one when the meaning of the day shone clearest. My own “truest” Christmas began on a rainy spring day in the bleakest year of my life.Recently divorced, I was in my 20s, had no job and was on my way downtown to go the rounds of the employment offices. I had no umbrella, for my old one had fallen apart, and I could not afford another one.
I sat down in the streetcar–and there against the seat was a beautiful silk umbrella with a silver handle inlaid with gold and necks of bright enamel. I had never seen anything so lovely.
I examined the handle and saw a name engraved among the golden scrolls. The usual procedure would have been to turn in the umbrella to the conductor, but on impulse I decided to take it with me and find the owner myself.
I got off the streetcar in a downpour and thankfully opened the umbrella to protect myself. Then I searched a telephone book for the name on the umbrella and found it. I called and a lady answered.
Yes, she said in surprise, that was her umbrella, which her parents, now dead, had given her for a birthday present. But, she added, it had been stolen from her locker at school (she was a teacher) more than a year before.
She was so excited that I forgot I was looking for a job and went directly to her small house. She took the umbrella, and her eyes filled with tears.
The teacher wanted to give me a reward, but–though twenty dollars was all I had in the world–her happiness at retrieving this special possession was such that to have accepted money would have spoiled something. We talked for a while, and I must have given her my address. I don’t remember.
The next six months were wretched. I was able to obtain only temporary employment here and there, for a small salary. But I put aside twenty-five or fifty cents when I could afford it for my lithe girl’s Christmas presents.
My last job ended the day before Christmas, my thirty-dollar rent was soon due, and 1 had fifteen dollars to my name–which Peggy and I would need for food.
She was home from convent boarding school and was excitedly looking forward to her gifs next day, which I had already Purchased. I had bough her a small tree, and we were going to decorate it that night.
The air was full of the sound of Christmas merriment as I walked from the streetcar to my small apartment. Bells rang and children shouted in the bitter dusk of the evening, and windows were lighted and everyone was running and laughing. But there should be no Christmas for me, I knew, no gifts, no remembrance whatsoever.
As l struggled through the snowdrifts, l had just about reached the lowest Point in my life. Unless a miracle happened, I would be homeless in January, foodless, jobless. I had prayed steadily for weeks, and there had been no answer but this coldness and darkness, this harsh air, this abandonment.
God and men had completely forgotten me. I felt so helpless and so lonely. What was to become of us?
I looked in my mail box. There were only bills in it, a sheaf of them, and two white envelopes which I was sure contained more bills. I went up three dusty flights of stairs and I cried, shivering in my thin coat.
But I made myself smile so I could greet my little daughter with a Pretense of happiness. She opened the door for me and threw herself in my arms, screaming joyously and demanding that we decorate the tree immediately.
Peggy had proudly set our kitchen table for our evening meal and put pans out and three cans of food which would be our dinner. For some reason, when I looked at those pans and cans, I felt brokenhearted. We would have only hamburgers for our Christmas dinner tomorrow.
I stood in the cold little kitchen, misery overwhelmed me. For the first time in my life, I doubted the existence and his mercy, and the coldness in my heart was colder than ice.
The doorbell rang and Peggy ran fleetly to answer it, calling that it must be Santa Claus. Then I heard a man talking heartily to her and went to the door. He was a delivery man, and his arms were full of parcels. “This is a mistake,” I said, but he read the name on the parcels and there were for me.
When he had gone I could only stare at the boxes. Peggy and I sat on the floor and opened them. A huge doll, three times the size of the one I had bought for her. Gloves. Candy. A beautiful leather purse. Incredible! I looked for the name of the sender. It was the teacher, the address was simply “California”, where she had moved.
Our dinner the nigh was the most delicious I had ever eaten. I forgot I had no money for the rent and only fifteen dollars in my purse and no job. My child and I ate and laughed together in happiness.
Then we decorated the little tree and marveled at it. I put Peggy to bed and set up her gifts around the tree and a sweet peace flooded me like a benediction. I had some hope again. I could even examine the sheaf of bills without cringing.

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Chinese language

Chinese language, Hanyu, which is used by the biggest population, is the only official language in china and also is one of the five official languages in UN. More and more people all over the world are learning Chinese now as the development of Chinese economy and the Chinese-promotion of Chinese government.
Hanyu belongs to Sino-Tibetan and is a language with tones. Hanyu took pinyin which is based on the Roman letters as the phonetic symbol. There are 26 pinyin letters in pinyin phonetic system. These 26 pinyin letters compose 21 initials and 38 finals. Generally speaking, a Hanyu pinyin syllable is composed by a initial, a final and a tone or a final with a tone only. There are four tones in pinyin: flat, up, curve and down. The typical pinyin syllable is composed by a initial, a final and a tone.
The writing system of Hanyu is characters. Chinese character is a kind of phono-ideo-graphic language which means it is phonographic and ideographic both. Chinese characters are all in block shape and take the same area on the paper. The basic unit of Chinese character is stroke. The strokes make up of the radicals. Each Chinese character can be considered as on or some radicals. There is a certain order to write strokes and radicals in a Chinese character. So from stroke to radical to character is the traditional and effective order to learn Chinese characters.
The most important feature of Hanyu grammar is that there are not form changes. The nouns words do not have case, gender and number changes. The verb words do not change according to the person or tense. Another feature is omitting. The inessential parts can be omitted which will not influence the communication.
Hanyu is a venerable and charming language. Hanyu is also a perfect media language to know more about the developing China and wonderful Chinese culture. Learning Chinese, learning Chinese well, can help you directly and effectively to cooperate with Chinese business persons and to do all kinds of researches in China.

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Chinese characters

A Chinese character, Han character or Hanzi is a logogram used in writing Chinese (hanzi), Japanese (kanji), less frequently Korean (hanja), and formerly Vietnamese.
The number of Chinese characters contained in the Kangxi dictionary is approximately 47,035, although a large number of these are rarely used variants accumulated throughout history. Studies carried out in China have shown that full literacy in the Chinese language requires a knowledge of only between three and four thousand characters.
In the Chinese writing system, each character corresponds to a single spoken syllable. A majority of words in all modern varieties of Chinese are poly-syllabic and thus require two or more characters to write. Cognates in the various Chinese languages/dialects which have the same or similar meaning but different pronunciations can be written with the same character. In addition, many Chinese characters were adopted according to their meaning by the Japanese and Korean languages to represent native words, disregarding pronunciation altogether. Chinese characters are also considered to be the world’s longest continuously used writing system.
Chinese characters are also known as sinographs, and the Chinese writing system as sinography. Non-Chinese languages which have adopted sinography—and, with the orthography, a large number of loanwords from the Chinese language—are known as Sinoxenic languages, whether or not they still use the characters. The term does not imply any genetic affiliation with Chinese. The major Sinoxenic languages are Japanese, Korean, and Vietnamese.

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We specialize in offering One-on-One online Chinese training programs via Skype, MSN, Yahoo Messenger, or B-meeting (an online meeting system developed by us),etc. This special teaching method helps people who are unable to study in China benefit from all the advantages of learning from qualified, native teacher. We help them achieve their Chinese language goals in an easy and cost-effective manner.Contact information Skype:chineseonline_chinaMSN:chinese-service@hotmail.comB-meeting:chineseonline_chinaYahoo:chineseonline_chinaGoogle Talk:chineseonline_chinaService Centre:+86-10-88508901E-mail: chineseonlinecc@163.com

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Chinese-online (http://www.chineseonline.cc) belongs to Hong Kong Big Dipper Chinese International Institute。 Chineseonline carries out the language training of Chinese, English and other languages, and it is characterized as the Natural Approach and language partner. Not only the learners can make appointments for training and tutoring 24-hour, but also the Chinese, English educational institutions can collaborate with it in teaching assistance, training and other field.The Chinese international institute is based in Hong Kong. At the present time, it mainly conduct the on-line teaching for English-speakers, Japanese-speakers, and Korean-speakers to study and train multi-language, and it had established many cooperation relationship and branches in North America, Japan, Korea, Southeast Asia, Australia and Europe.
The Chinese International Institute pays great attention to R&D which promotes the teaching. At present, the R&D is focused in teacher training, teaching material design, curriculum design, teaching technology. The R&D center/branches are going to be established in Beijing, Shanghai, Wuhan, Zhengzhou, Xi’an, Chengdu, Shenyang, Guangzhou and Shenzhen, which will conduct research on the development of teaching materials and teaching methods with Peking University, Tsinghua University, People’s University of China, Beijing Normal University, Beijing Language and Cultural University, Nankai University, Wuhan university, etc. The institute possesses a teaching system, a teaching material system and an education ideology system with distinct characteristic, and it swallow the merits of effective language education mode and the teaching thoughts from Chinese mainland, Hong Kong, Taiwan and other countries. It adapts the teaching materials of mainstream and high level.
The teachers mainly come from the universities having advantages in education, Chinese and other language teaching, such as Beijing Normal University, Peking University, People’s University of China, Tsinghua University, Nankai University, Fudan University, Nanjing University, Jiao Tong University, Wuhan university, Beijing Language and Culture University, Beijing Foreign Languages University, Guangdong Foreign Languages University, etc. At the same time, the institute possesses a group of VIP teachers including announcers, special-class teachers, senior translators, and linguists, who can provide the high-level service for learners and training organizations.

The institute is characterized as “exchange mother tongue and study interactively”. The learners and the training organizations can obtain a large number of language partners free of charge so that they can study Chinese as a native language. For instance, a Chinese language learner of English-speaker can provide the English training to the partner whose mother tongue is Chinese, therefore, s/he can study and exercise Chinese. Another characteristic of the institute is “make friends international and interact worldwide”. Once registered, the membership will be permanent. When the member travel to other city, region, or country, s/he can get the preferential treatment from local branch, and the branch is obligated to provide the service and encourage the members to care about and help each other.

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