learn-chinese'blog

important

2009-03-30T20:14:00.000-07:00

if you give up when it is winter ,you will miss the

promise of your spring,the beauty of your summer ,the

fulfilment of your fall .don' let the pain of one season

destory the joy of all the rest.

I believe it is important to separate good failures from

bad failures. Good failures happen when, even though you

made the correct decision, you still lost. Bad failures

happen because you made bad decisions, or worse, didn't

make a decision at all. Although the two feel the same,

they have a completely different long-term impact.

being cast aside

2009-01-01T23:27:00.000-08:00

"Barely had coffee," Ed LeBlanc said, the most vocal of the four of us, quickest at friendship, at shaking hands. "We've got a whole pot almost. Have what you want." The pot was pointed out sitting on a hunk of grill across the stones of our fire, flames licking lightly at its sides. The pot appeared as if it had been at war, a number of dents scarred it, the handle had evidently been replaced, and if not adjusted against a small rock it would have fallen over for sure. Once, a half-hour on the road heading north, noting it missing, we'd gone back to get it. When we fished the Pine River, coffee was the glue, the morning glue, the late evening glue, even though we'd often unearth our beer from a natural cooler in early evening. Coffee, camp coffee, has a ritual. It is thick, it is dark, it is potboiled over a squaw-pine fire, it is strong, it is enough to wake the demon in you, stoke last evening's cheese and pepperoni. First man up makes the fire, second man the coffee; but into that pot has to go fresh eggshells to hold the grounds down, give coffee a taste of history, a sense of place. That means at least one egg be cracked open for its shells, usually in the shadows and glimmers of false dawn. I suspect that's where "scrambled eggs" originated, from some camp like ours, settlers rushing west, lumberjacks hungry, hoboes lobbying for breakfast. So, camp coffee has made its way into poems, gatherings, memories, a time and thing not letting go, not being manhandled, not being cast aside.

weaponry also noted

2008-12-31T23:28:00.000-08:00

"You're early enough for eggs and bacon if you need a start." Eddie added, his invitation tossed kindly into the morning air, his smile a match for morning sun, a man of welcomes. "We have hot cakes, kulbassa, home fries, if you want." We have the food of kings if you really want to know. There were nights we sat at his kitchen table at 101 Main Street, Saugus, Massachusetts planning the trip, planning each meal, planning the campsite. Some menus were founded on a case of beer, a late night, a curse or two on the ride to work when day started.

"Been there a'ready," the other man said, his weaponry also noted by us, a little more orderly in its presentation, including an old Boy Scout sash across his chest, the galaxy of flies in supreme positioning. They were old Yankees, in the face and frame the pair of them undoubtedly brothers, staunch, written into early routines, probably had been up at three o'clock to get here at this hour. They were taller than we were, no fat on their frames, wide-shouldered, big-handed, barely coming out of their reserve, but fishermen. That fact alone would win any of us over. Obviously, they'd been around, a heft of time already accrued.

The tables were all

2008-12-29T23:35:00.000-08:00

"You left it in the lift," he said. "May I sit down?"
His voice was soft. Cultivated. What could I say? The tables were all pretty full so I nodded. He said bon app閠it and began to eat. I'd always thought he picked at his food. But as I watched, I noticed that he selected small pieces, speared them and moved them carefully to his mouth.
"Have you been there?"
"Been where?" I was totally dazed. From dropping my book and banging my head and everything.
"Australia, New Zealand."
I stared at him and thought again of what Mark had said about me reminding him of someone. An Australian? Maybe an ex-girlfriend or wife?
"Not such a strange question," he said. "You're old enough to have travelled there. And Katherine Mansfield, Janet Frame, are most likely in the book."
His smile crinkled up his eyes.
"No, I haven't and yes, they are," I said.
That's how it started. He asked me a question, nodded when I spoke and then asked another. I was off, talking about reading, books and all that stuff I love.
Days later Malcolm passed our table with his tray and spontaneously I said a seat was free. Mark stared at me and I felt a rush of heat to my cheeks.
After that, Malcolm often sat with us and he and I discussed a lot of things. We spoke a little about ourselves too. I told him how Mom had brought me up on her own at the start of the Hippie Era. He said he had married during that time but divorced a few
years later. Mark asked me how come Malcolm and I always had so much to talk about.
"He's easy to talk to. And he reads a lot."
"You two got so much to say, I don't get a chance to open my mouth all lunch-time."
"You do. You shove food in."
One lunchtime Malcom asked me if I'd like to go to a reading with him.
"Um. Don't know."
"Amelia Turner. Shortlisted for the Booker Prize last year."
I wanted very much to go. But although I no longer thought Malcolm quite so weird, I wasn't sure if I wanted to go out in his company.
"Afterwards, I'll cook us curry. Do you like it? "

back to my table

2008-12-27T23:34:00.000-08:00

The tray didn't just hit the floor. It crashed and smashed his lunch to pieces. Serves you damn well right, I thought. You were staring again.
He stood stock-still and looked down at the food. Suddenly I got up and moved towards him. I hadn't intended to, hadn't wanted to help him. I called to the woman behind the counter. She closed her mouth and brought a cloth to clean up the mess. I picked up crockery, put it on the tray. There was a soppy stain on his trousers and through it you could see just how bony his knees were. Like the rest of him. All bones, dangling jacket and hanging trousers. Stooped shoulders and mile-long arms. Then he smiled at me. A wonderful smile that creased up his worn face and totally surprised me.
"Thank you."
I shoved the tray at him and went back to my table.
I worked at a large publishing company and ate lunch in the canteen. I had noticed him because he stared at me. He was weird-looking. His hair was badly cut and his clothes were ancient and dull; too-short corduroys, baggy at the knees and colour-less sweaters, dotted with fluff. Often he sat alone and just picked at his food. Or he read and jotted things down.

belief that a fun-filled

2008-12-25T23:32:00.000-08:00

The way people cling to the belief that a fun-filled, pain-free life equates happiness actually diminishes their chances of ever attaining real happiness. If fun and pleasure are equated with happiness, then pain must be equated with unhappiness. But, in fact, the opposite is true: More times than not, things that lead to happiness involve some pain.

As a result, many people avoid the very endeavors that are the source of true happiness. They fear the pain inevitably brought by such things as marriage, raising children, professional achievement, religious commitment, civic or charitable work, and self-improvement.

still at memory

2008-12-23T23:30:00.000-08:00

Brother was still at memory, we could tell. Silence we thought was heavy about us, but there was so much going on. A bird talked to us from a high limb. A fox called to her young. We were on the Pine River once again, nearly a hundred miles from home, in Paradise.

"Name's Roger Treadwell. Boys are Nathan and Truett." The introductions had been accounted for.

Old Venerable Roger Treadwell, carpenter, fly fisherman, rocker, leaned forward and said, "You boys wouldn't have a couple spare beers, would ya?"

Now that's the way to start the day on the Pine River.

doors of the van

2008-12-21T23:28:00.000-08:00

Then the pounding came, from inside the truck, as if a tire iron was beating at the sides of the vehicle. It was not a timid banging, not a minor signal. Bang! Bang! it came, and Bang! again. And the voice of authority from some place in space, some regal spot in the universe. "I'm not sitting here the livelong day whilst you boys gab away." A toothless meshing came in his words, like Walter Brennan at work in the jail in Rio Bravo or some such movie.

"Comin', pa," one of them said, the most orderly one, the one with the old scout sash riding him like a bandoleer.

They pulled open the back doors of the van, swung them wide, to show His Venerable Self, ageless, white-bearded, felt hat too loaded with an arsenal of flies, sitting on a white wicker rocker with a rope holding him to a piece of vertical angle iron, the crude kind that could have been on early subways or trolley cars. Across his lap he held three delicate fly rods, old as him, thin, bamboo in color, probably too slight for a lake's three-pounder. But on the Pine River, upstream or downstream, under alders choking some parts of the river's flow, at a significant pool where side streams merge and phantom trout hang out their eternal promise, most elegant, fingertip elegant.

be your father

2008-12-19T23:35:00.000-08:00

"Someone he knew?"
"Yeah. Could be strategy. Maybe he fancies you."
"Fancies me? But he's old."
"Only old enough to be your father."
I grabbed my tray and left the table.
I didn't do much work that afternoon. I kept wishing Mark hadn't said what he had said. Old enough to be your father.
The following week I took along a book to read during lunchtime. When I got into the lift on my floor, he was already inside. He greeted me so I had to reply but I didn't smile. We were alone and that worried me. I wondered whether I should get out at the next floor and walk up the stairs to the canteen. Don't panic, I thought. Just because he's stared at you for ages doesn't mean he's going to do anything.
" Well, I suppose one of us should press the button or we'll be here all day, won't we?"
I'd been so busy wondering what he was going to do and expecting him to do something, that I'd completely forgotten to do anything myself. I felt like an idiot and this made me smile and I hadn't wanted to. He smiled back, his blue eyes crinkling right up to the grey hair at his ears and making him look ... nice. Then there was a slap. My book hit the floor. I bent down and so did he, and we bashed heads. At that moment, the lift shuddered to a stop and the doors seemed to fling themselves wide open. I was so embarrassed, I marched out of the lift, straight towards the queue at the counter. I ordered without looking at the menu and took my tray to a table where there was only one empty seat. I breathed a sigh of relief and began to eat. But the salad stuck in my throat when I noticed that everyone else at the table had already finished lunch and they were getting up to go. I glanced over at the counter. He was paying and in a second, his eyes would scan the room to find me. I ducked my head. Waited. Any minute now he'd sit down with his tray.
Short Stories from Australasia. My book appeared in front of my eyes. His fingers were the longest I'd seen and his nails were manicured. I hadn't thought he'd bother.

A painter hangs

2008-12-17T23:33:00.000-08:00

A painter hangs his or her finished pictures on a wall, and everyone can see it. A composer writes a work, but no one can hear it until it is performed. Professional singers and players have great responsibilities, for the composer is utterly dependent on them. A student of music needs as long and as arduous a training to become a performer as a medical student needs to become a doctor. Most training is concerned with technique, for musicians have to have the muscular proficiency of an athlete or a ballet dancer. Singers practice breathing every day, as their vocal chords would be inadequate without controlled muscular support. String players practice moving the fingers of the left hand up and down, while drawing the bow to and fro with the right arm-two entirely different movements.

Singers and instruments have to be able to get every note perfectly in tune. Pianists are spared this particular anxiety, for the notes are already there, waiting for them, and it is the piano tuner’s responsibility to tune the instrument for them. But they have their own difficulties; the hammers that hit the string have to be coaxed not to sound like percussion, and each overlapping tone has to sound clear.

This problem of getting clear texture is one that confronts student conductors: they have to learn to know every note of the music and how it should sound, and they have to aim at controlling these sound with fanatical but selfless authority.

Technique is of no use unless it is combined with musical knowledge and understanding. Great artists are those who are so thoroughly at home in the language of music that they can enjoy performing works written in any century.

profound loneliness

2008-12-15T23:31:00.000-08:00

I have often thought that if Hollywood stars have a role to play, it is to teach us that happiness has nothing to do with fun. These rich, beautiful individuals have constant access to glamorous parties, fancy cars, expensive homes, everything that spells "happiness".

But in memoir after memoir, celebrities reveal the unhappiness hidden beneath all their fun: depression, alcoholism, drug addiction, broken marriages, troubled children, profound loneliness.

we thought

2008-12-13T23:29:00.000-08:00

The most orderly son said, "Sure, pa. Two-three hours." The two elderly sons left the campsite and walked down the path to the banks of the Pine River, their boots swishing at thigh line, the most elegant rods pointing the way through scattered limbs, experience on the move. Trout beware, we thought.

"We been carpenters f'ever," he said, the clip still in his words. "Those boys a mine been some good at it too." His head cocked, he seemed to listen for their departure, the leaves and branches quiet, the murmur of the stream a tinkling idyllic music rising up the banking. Old Venerable Himself moved the wicker rocker forward and back, a small timing taking place. He was hearing things we had not heard yet, the whole symphony all around us. Eddie looked at me and nodded his own nod. It said, "I'm paying attention and I know you are. This is our one encounter with a man who has fished for years the river we love, that we come to twice a year, in May with the mayflies, in June with the black flies." The gift and the scourge, we'd often remember, having been both scarred and sewn by it.

no garbage

2008-12-11T23:29:00.000-08:00

"Oh, boy," Eddie said at an aside, "there's the boss man, and look at those tools." Admiration leaked from his voice.

Rods were taken from the caring hands, the rope untied, and His Venerable Self, white wicker rocker and all, was lifted from the truck and set by our campfire. I was willing to bet that my sister Pat, the dealer in antiques, would scoop up that rocker if given the slightest chance. The old one looked about the campsite, noted clothes drying from a previous day's rain, order of equipment and supplies aligned the way we always kept them, the canvas of our tent taut and true in its expanse, our fishing rods off the ground and placed atop the flyleaf so as not to tempt raccoons with smelly cork handles, no garbage in sight. He nodded.

We had passed muster.

"You the ones leave it cleaner than you find it ever' year. We knowed sunthin' 'bout you. Never disturbed you afore. But we share the good spots." He looked closely at Brother Bentley, nodded a kind of recognition. "Your daddy ever fish here, son?"

after the crash

2008-12-09T23:34:00.000-08:00

A few days after the crash, he stopped at the table I was sharing with Mark from proof reading, and asked if he might sit down. I said the seats were taken and continued eating. He apologised and took his tray off somewhere else.
"What's your problem, Leanna?" asked Mark.
"No problem. It's just that I like to choose who I share my mealtimes with."
"A bit rough on the old chap though."
I shrugged.
It was Mark who told me more about him. He had gone over to scrounge a cigarette. By the time he came back to the table, I had my head stuck into the news-paper.
"Interesting chap. Sub-editor. Been all over the world," said Mark.
I decided to find the newspaper more interesting and finally Mark shut up and finished smoking.
"Asked your name," he said.
"He what?"
"Yeah."
"What'd you say?"
"Leanna, of course."
I folded the newspaper.
"I've loads of work this afternoon."
"Said you look familiar," said Mark. "Like someone he knew."

situation here upon earth

2008-12-07T23:32:00.000-08:00

Strange is our situation here upon earth. Each of us comes for a short visit, not knowing why, yet sometimes seeming to divine a purpose.
　　
From the standpoint of daily life, however, there is one thing we do know that man is here for the sake of other men --- above all for those upon whose smile and well-being our own happiness depends, and also for the countless unknown souls with whose fate we are connected by a bond of sympathy. Many times a day I realize how much my own outer and inner life is built upon the labors of my fellow men, both living and dead, and how earnestly I must exert myself in order to give in return as much as I have received. My peace of mind is often troubled by the depressing sense that I have borrowed too heavily from the work of other men.
　　
To ponder interminably over the reason for one’s own existence or the meaning of life in general seems to me, from an objective point of view, to be sheer folly. And yet everyone holds certain ideals by which he guides his aspiration and his judgment. The ideals which have always shone before me and filled me with the joy of living are goodness, beauty, and truth. To make a goal of comfort and happiness has never appealed to me; a system of ethics built on this basis would be sufficient only for a herd of cattle.

in such a glamorous

2008-12-05T23:31:00.000-08:00

live in Hollywood. You may think people in such a glamorous, fun-filled place are happier than others. If so, you have some mistaken ideas about the nature of happiness.

Many intelligent people still equate happiness with fun. The truth is that fun and happiness have little or nothing in common. Fun is what we experience during an act. Happiness is what we experience after an act. It is a deeper, more abiding emotion.

Going to an amusement park or ball game, watching a movie or television, are fun activities that help us relax, temporarily forget our problems and maybe even laugh. But they do not bring happiness, because their positive effects end when the fun ends.

the remnants of an old lodge

2008-12-03T23:29:00.000-08:00

Brother must have passed through the years in a hurry, remembering his father bringing him here as a boy. "A ways back," Brother said in his clipped North Saugus fashion, outlander, specific, no waste in his words. Old Oren Bentley, it had been told us, had walked five miles through the unknown woods off Route 16 as a boy and had come across the campsite, the remnants of an old lodge, and a great curve in the Pine River so that a mile's walk in either direction gave you three miles of stream to fish, upstream or downstream. Paradise up north.

His Venerable Self nodded again, a man of signals, then said, "Knowed him way back some. Met him at the Iron Bridge. We passed a few times." Instantly we could see the story. A whole history of encounter was in his words; it marched right through us the way knowledge does, as well as legend. He pointed at the coffeepot. "The boys'll be off, but my days down there get cut up some. I'll sit a while and take some of thet." He said thet too pronounced, too dramatic, and it was a short time before I knew why.

The white wicker rocker went into a slow and deliberate motion, his head nodded again. He spoke to his sons. "You boys be back no more'n two-three hours so these fellers can do their things too, and keep the place tidied up."

Sundays are different

2008-12-01T17:24:00.000-08:00

Sundays in England could be fairly boring in the past. Sunday was always a traditional day for rest and religion. People were supposed to go to church. Shops were not even allowed to open on Sundays until 1994. Even now, shops are only open for a maximum of six hours. Recently there has been debate in England as to whether opening hours should be extended to the same period as on weekdays.

Some people say that religion is now less popular because there are more activities to get involved in. Going to church is no longer a popular activity for many British.

Many British enjoy doing DIY (do-it-yourself) activities on Sundays, like painting, decorating, and building things in the home. Shops that sell DIY tools are always very busy on Sunday mornings.

Transport at the weekends can be more limited than on weekdays. Travelling around both locally and nationally can also be more difficult because repairs to trains and tracks are often done then.

For young people, Sundays are usually a day for seeing friends, playing or watching sport, or shopping and generally relaxing before going back to work or college the following day.

Catch of a Lifetime

2008-11-30T17:25:00.000-08:00

He was 11 years old and went fishing every chance he got from the dock at his family’s 1)cabin on an island in the middle of a New Hampshire lake.

On the day before the 2)bass season 3)opened, he and his father were fishing early in the evening, catching 4)sunfish and 5)perch with worms. Then he tied on a small silver 6)lure and practiced casting. The lure struck the water and caused colored 7)ripples in the sunset, then silver ripples as the moon rose over the lake.

When his 8)peapole doubled over, he knew something huge was on the other end. His father watched with admiration as the boy skillfully worked the fish alongside the dock.

Finally, he very 9)gingerly lifted the exhausted fish from the water. It was the largest one he had ever seen, but it was a bass.

the boy and his father looked at the handsome fish, 10)gills playing back and forth in the moonlight. The father lit a match and looked at his watch. It was 10 P.M.-- two hours before the season opened. He looked at the fish, then at the boy.

“You’ll have to put it back, son,” he said.

“Dad!” cried the boy.

“there will be other fish,” said his father.

“Not as big as this one,” cried the boy.

He looked around the lake. No other fishermen or boats were anywhere around in the moonlight. He looked again at his father. Even though no one had seen them, nor could anyone ever know what time he caught the fish, the boy could tell by the clarity of his father’s voice that the decision was not 11)negotiable. He slowly worked the hook out of the lip of the huge bass and lowered it into the black water.

the creature 12)swished its powerful body and disappeared. The boy suspected that he would never again see such a GREat fish.

That was 34 years ago. Today, the boy is a successful architect in New York City. His father’s cabin is still there on the island in the middle of the lake. He takes his own son and daughters fishing from the same dock.

And he was right. He has never again caught such a magnificent fish as the one he landed that night long ago. But he does see that same fish-again and again-every time he comes up against a question of 13)ethics.

For, as his father taught him, ethics are simple matters of right and wrong. It is only the practice of ethics that is difficult. Do we do right when no one is looking? Do we refuse to 14)cut corners to get the design in on time? Or refuse to trade stocks based on information that we know we aren’t supposed to have?

We would if we were taught to put the fish back when we were young. For we would have learned the truth. The decision to do right lives fresh and fragrant in our memory. It is a story we will proudly tell our friends and grandchildren. Not about how we had a chance to beat the system and took it, but about how we did the right thing and were forever 15)strengthened.

You’ve Got Mail

2008-11-28T17:31:00.000-08:00

Joe: Kathleen Kelly, hello. This is a 1)coincidence. Would you mind if I sat down?
Kathleen: Yes, yes, I would. Actually I’m expecting someone. Thanks.
Joe: Pride and Prejudice.
Kathleen: Do you mind?
Joe: I bet you read that book every year. I bet you just love that Mr. Darcy and your 2)sentimental heart just beats wildly at the thought that he and, well, you know whatever her name is, are truly honestly going to 3)end up together.
Waiter: Can I get you something?
Kathleen: No, no, he’s not staying.
Joe: 4)Mochachino, decaf, 5)non-fat.
Kathleen: No, you are not staying.
Joe: I’ll just stay here until your friend gets here. 6)Gee, is he late?
Kathleen: The heroine of Pride and Prejudice is Elizabeth Bennet. She is one of the GREatest and most 7)complex 8)characters ever written, not that you would know.
Joe: As a matter of fact, I’ve read it.
Kathleen: Oh, well, good for you.
Joe: I think you’ll discover a lot of things if you really knew me.
Kathleen: If I really knew you, I know what I would find instead of a brain, a 9)cash register, instead of a heart, a 10)bottom line.
Joe: What?
Kathleen: I just had a 11)breakthrough.
Joe: What is it?
Kathleen: I have you to thank for it, for the first time in my life when 12)confronted with a 13)horrible, 14)insensitive person I knew exactly what I wanted to say and I said it.
Joe: Well, I think you have a 15)gift for it. It was a perfect 16)blend of poetry and 17)meanness.

Kathleen: Meanness, let me tell you something about meanness…
Joe: Don’t misunderstand me. I’m just trying to pay you a 18)compliment.

Kathleen: Oh, oh, why are you touching that? What are you doing?
Joe: Is this a red rose? No, you know it’s a 19)crimson rose. Something you read about in a book, no doubt.
Kathleen: It’s funny to you, isn’t it? Everything is a joke to you. Please leave. Please, please leave, I beg you.... Thank you.
Joe: You know what that 20)hanky reminds me of?
Kathleen: Hmm…
Joe: The first day I met you.
Kathleen: The first day you lied to me.
Joe: I didn’t lie to you.
Kathleen: You did too.
Joe: No, I didn’t.
Kathleen: Yes, you did.
Joe: I did not.
Kathleen: You did too.
Joe: I did not.
Kathleen: You did too.
Joe: I did not.
Kathleen: You did too. I thought all that Fox stuff was so charming. F-O-X.
Joe: Well, I didn’t lie about it.
Kathleen: Joe, just call me Joe.
Joe: Sure.
Kathleen: As if you were one of those stupid 22-year old girls with no last name. Hi, I’m Kimberly, hi, I’m Janice. Don’t they know you’re supposed to have a last name? It’s like they’re an entire 21)generation of 22)cocktail waitresses.

Joe: Look, I am not a 22-year old cocktail waitress.
Kathleen: That is not what I meant.
Joe: And when I said the thing about the Price Club and the 23)cans of 24)olive oil, that’s not what I meant.
Kathleen: Oh, you poor sad multi-millionaire. I feel so sorry for you.
(Someone comes into, Kathleen raises her head and looks forward.)
Joe: Take a wild guess that’s not him either. So who is he, I wonder? Certainly not I, gather the world’s GREatest living 25)expert on 26)Julius and Ethel Rosenberg but somebody else entirely different. And will you be mean to him too?
Kathleen: No, I will not. Because the man who is coming here tonight is completely unlike you. The man who is coming here tonight is kind and funny and he’s got the most wonderful sense of humor.
Joe: But, he’s not here.
Kathleen: Well, if he’s not here he has a reason because there’s not a cruel or 27)careless bone in his body. But I wouldn’t expect you to understand anybody like that. You with your theme park 28)multi-level 29)homogenize the world mochachino land. You’ve 30)deluded yourself into thinking that you’re some sort of 31)benefactor bringing books to the masses. But no one will ever remember you Joe Fox and maybe no one will remember me either, but plenty of people remember my mother and they think she was fine and they think her store was something special. You are nothing but a 32)suit.
Joe: That’s my 33)cue. Have a good night.

color

2008-11-25T17:27:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time the colors of the world started to quarrel.
All claimed that they were the best.
the most important.
the most useful.
the favorite.

　　GREen said:

　　"Clearly I am the most important. I am the sign of life and of hope. I was chosen for grass, trees and leaves. Without me, all animals would die. Look over the countryside and you will see that I am in the majority." 　

　　Blue interrupted:

　　"You only think about the earth, but consider the sky and the sea. It is the water that is the basis of life and drawn up by the clouds from the deep sea. The sky gives space and peace and serenity. Without my peace, you would all be nothing." 　

　　Yellow chuckled:

　　"You are all so serious. I bring laughter, gaiety, and warmth into the world. The sun is yellow, the moon is yellow, the stars are yellow. Every time you look at a sunflower, the whole world starts to smile. Without me there would be no fun." 　

　　Orange started next to blow her trumpet:

　　"I am the color of health and strength. I may be scarce, but I am precious for I serve the needs of human life. I carry the most important vitamins. Think of carrots, pumpkins, oranges, mangoes, and papayas. I don''t hang around all the time, but when I fill the sky at sunrise or sunset, my beauty is so striking that no one gives another thought to any of you." 　

Red could stand it no longer he shouted out:

　　"I am the ruler of all of you. I am blood - life''s blood! I am the color of danger and of bravery. I am willing to fight for a cause. I bring fire into the blood. Without me, the earth would be as empty as the moon. I am the color of passion and of love, the red rose, the poinsettia and the poppy." 　

　　Purple rose up to his full height:

　　He was very tall and spoke with GREat pomp: "I am the color of royalty and power. Kings, chiefs, and bishops have always chosen me for I am the sign of authority and wisdom. People do not question me! They listen and obey." 　

　　Finally Indigo spoke, much more quietly than all the others, but with just as much determination:

　　"Think of me. I am the color of silence. You hardly notice me, but without me you all become superficial. I represent thought and reflection, twilight and deep water. You need me for balance and contrast, for prayer and inner peace." 　　

　　And so the colors went on boasting, each convinced of his or her own superiority. Their quarreling became louder and louder. Suddenly there was a startling FLASH of bright lightening thunder rolled and boomed. Rain started to pour down relentlessly. The colors crouched down in fear, drawing close to one another for comfort.

　 In the midst of the clamor, rain began to speak:

　　"You foolish colors, fighting amongst yourselves, each trying to dominate the rest. Don''t you know that you were each made for a special purpose, unique and different? Join hands with one another and come to me." 　

　 Doing as they were told, the colors united and joined hands.

　　the rain continued:

　　"From now on, when it rains, each of you will stretch across the sky in a GREat bow of color as a reminder that you can all live in peace. The Rainbow is a sign of hope for tomorrow." And so, whenever a good rain washes the world, and a Rainbow appears in the sky, let us remember to appreciate one another. 　

A Good Heart

2008-11-22T17:28:00.000-08:00

Our usual walk was to or from the subway, which was how he got to work. He went to work sick, and despite nasty weather. He almost never missed a day, and would make it to the office even if others could not. A matter of pride.

When snow or ice was on the ground, it was impossible for him to walk, even with help. At such times my sisters or I would pull him through the streets of Brooklyn, NY, on a child''s sleigh to the subway entrance. Once there, he would cling to the handrail until he reached the lower steps that the warmer tunnel air kept ice-free. In Manhattan the subway station was the basement of his office building, and he would not have to go outside again until we met him in Brooklyn'' on his way home.

When I think of it now, I marvel at how much courage it must have taken for a grown man to subject himself to such indignity and stress. And at how he did it —— without bitterness or complaint .

He never talked about himself as an object of pity, nor did he show any envy of the more fortunate or able. What he looked for in others was a "good heart", and if he found one, the owner was good enough for him.

Now that I am older, I believe that is a proper standard by which to judge people, even though I still don'' t know precisely what a "good heart" is. But I know the times I don’t have one myself.

Unable to engage in many activities, my father still tried to participate in some way. When a local sandlot baseball team found itself |without a manager, he kept it going. He was a knowledgeable baseball fan and often took me to Ebbets Field to see the Brooklyn Dodgers play. He liked to go to dances and parties, where he could have a good time just sitting and watching.

On one memorable occasion a fight broke out at a beach party, with everyone punching and shoving. He wasn''t content to sit and watch, but he couldn''t stand unaided on the soft sand. In frustration he began to shout, "I'' ll fight anyone who will tit down with me!"

Nobody did. But the next day people kidded him by saying it was the first time any fighter was urged to take a dive even before the bout began.

I now know he participated in some things vicariously through me, his only son. When I played ball (poorly), he "played" too. When I joined the Navy he "joined" too. And when I came home on leave, he saw to it that " I visited his office. Introducing me, he was really saying, "This is my son, but it is also me, and I could have done this, too, if things had been different." Those words were never said aloud.

He has been gone many years now, but I think of him often. I wonder if he sensed my reluctance to be seen with him during our walks. If he did, I am sorry I never told him how sorry I was, how unworthy I was, how I reGREtted it. I think of him when I complain about trifles, when I am envious of another''s good fortune, when I don''t have a "good heart".

What I have lived for

2008-11-20T17:22:00.000-08:00

Three passions, simple but overwhelming1y strong, have governed my life :the longing for love, the search for knowledge, and unbearable pity for the suffering of mankind. These passions, in a wayward course,over a deep ocean of anguish, reaching to the very verge of despair.

　　I have sought love, first, because it brings ecstasy-ecstasy so GREat that I would often have sacrificed all my rest of life for a few hours of this joy. I have sought it ,next because it relieves loneliness-that terrible loneliness in which one shivering consciousness looks over the rim of the world into the co1d unfathomable lifeless abyss. I have sought it, finally, because in the union of love I have seen, in a mystic miniature, the prefiguring vision of the heaven that saints and poets have imagined. This is what I sought, and though it might seem too good for human life, this is what-at last-I have found.

　　With equa1 passion I have sought knowledge. I have wished to understand the hearts of men. I have wished to know why the stars shine. And I have tried to apprehend the Pythagorean power by which number holds sway above the flux. A 1ittle of this, but not much, I have achieved.

　　Love and knowledge, so far they were possible, led upward toward the heavens. But always pity brought me back to earth. Echoes of cries of pain reverberate in my hear. Children in famine, victims tortured by oppressors, helpless old people a hated burden to their pain make a mockery of what human life should be. I long to alleviate the evi1,but I can’t, and I too suffer.

　　This has been my life. I have found it worth living, and wou1d gladly live it again if the chance were offered me.

Of Studies

2008-11-18T17:30:00.000-08:00

Studies serve for delight, for ornament, and for ability. their chief use for delight, is in privateness and retiring; for ornament, is in discourse; and for ability, is in the judgment, and disposition of business. For expert men can exe-cute, and perhaps judge of particulars, one by one; but the general counsels, and the plots and marshalling of affairs, come best, from those that are learned. To spend too much time in studies is sloth; to use them too much for ornament, is affectation; to make judgment wholly by their rules, is the humor of a scholar. They perfect nature, and are perfected by experience: for natural abilities are like natural plants, that need proyning, by study; and studies themselves, do give forth directions too much at large, except they be bounded in by experience. Crafty men contemn studies, simple men admire them, and wise men use them; for they teach not their own use; but that is a wisdom without them, and above them, won by observation. Read not to contradict and confute; nor to believe and take for granted; nor to find talk and discourse; but to weigh and consider. Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested; that is, some books are to be read only in parts; others to be read, but not curiously; and some few to be read wholly, and with diligence and attention. Some books also may be read by deputy, and extracts made of them bothers; but that would be only in the less important arguments, and the meaner sort of books, else distilled books are like common distilled waters, FLASHy things.

Reading make a full man; conference a ready man; and writing an exact man. And therefore, if a man write little, he had need have a GREat memory; if he confer little, he had need have a present wit: and if he read little, he had need have much cunning, to seem to know, that he doth not. Histories make men wise; poets witty; the mathematics subtitle; natural philosophy deep; moral grave; logic and rhetoric able to contend. Abeunt studia in mores. Nay, there is no stand or impediment in the wit, but may be wrought out by fit studies; like as diseases of the body, may have appropriate exercises. Bowling is good for the stone and reins; shooting for the lungs and breast; gentle walking for the stomach; riding for the head; and the like. So if a man''s wit be wandering, let him study the mathematics; for in demonstrations, if his wit be called away never so little, he must begin again. If his wit be not apt to distinguish or find differences, let him study the Schoolmen; for they are cymini sectors. If he be not apt to beat over matters, and to call up one thing to prove and illustrate another, let him study the lawyers'' cases. So every defect of the mind, may have a special receipt.

The Truth Behind Fear--A Ghost Story

2008-11-16T17:20:00.000-08:00

Now, there was a very young and beautiful wife, who became sick and nearly died. She was on her death bed and told her husband, "I love you very much, and I don't want to leave you. Please, after I die, don't marry another person. You promise me! Okay?

Then she worried that her husband would not keep the promise, so she threatened him. She said, "If you marry another wife, I will become a ghost and take care of you." It's terrible! That's what she said to her husband, "I will make you suffer, always, forever, and eternally!" So the husband was maybe afraid of the wife. But here (Master points to the book) they say, "respected the wife." We always respect the wife, do we not? We respect the wife, but we're not afraid! So the husband respected the wife and didn't think of remarrying another person.

But as God always makes trouble for human beings, he met another beautiful woman, younger, charming, sweeter and more attractive, and richer even! Rich! Oh, terrible! And she even loved him very much and maybe more than the wife. Oh, too bad! That was only three months after the funeral service. Now what can we do about that?

So he got engaged to her. After the engagement (the engagement happened during the daytime), that night the husband saw the ghost of the wife coming. "Ah ha! As promised, here I come." She appeared in front of him and scolded him and nagged him, saying that he had broken his promise; that he did not love her; that he was not sincere; that he was a bad husband; that he had no conscience; that he was a lousy man; that he was a terrible human being.

Then the husband got very scared! Because this ghost was so terribly intelligent; she knew exactly what had happened between the husband

and the new fiancée. She told him what time he did what with her, and what time he gave her what, and talked to her about what. She knew everything, everything! So he couldn't deny it. But he was very scared.

He was so scared that he could not sleep, he could not eat, and he dared not go to see his fiancée often. And their love affair nearly went on the rocks. So some people told him that he should go to a temple and talk about his suffering to a Zen master, and maybe the Zen master could help him. Oh, my God! The Zen master takes care of everything, including ghosts and marriage.

So the Zen master truly helped him. He said to the husband, "Your ex-wife has become a ghost." (This we knew) "And she is very intelligent. So she knows everything that you did with your fiancée. Actually, you should respect such a ghost. But there is a way to drive her away. Now,

next time if the ghost appears, you have to make a bet with her." The Zen master said that she knew everything; she knew too much already. But probably there was something she didn't know. If she answered incorrectly, then she should not come back and bother him any more. Then he could marry the one he loved.

Because she was dead! She could not serve him in any way. She could not cook for him. She could not take care of anything. So the husband asked the Zen master, "What can I do? What should I ask her?"

And the Zen master said to him, "Next time when she comes, take a handful of mung beans in your hand and ask her how many beans are inside. She surely cannot answer that. And then she will disappear. Because, if she cannot answer that question, you will know this is only an illusion of your own mind, your own conscience or your own imagination

because you're already too scared, afraid of the wife and imagining, an illusion of your mind. If she doesn't answer, if she cannot answer, then you know it's an illusion and she will vanish."

So, the next night, truly, the ghost appeared. And the husband told her, "Oh, yes, you know everything. You are very intelligent; I cannot do anything about it." And then the ghost said, "Yes, I know. And I also know that today you went to see a Zen master and you talked about us."

So the man said, "Okay, since you know everything, now, can you tell me how many beans are in my hand?" As soon as he asked this question, the ghost disappeared.
So you know, was there a real ghost? No! Then you shouldn't be afraid tonight.

A Drum

2008-11-15T17:35:00.000-08:00

A poor woman had only one son. She worked hard cleaning houses and grinding grain for the well-to-do families in town. They gave her some grain in return and she lived on it. But she could never afford to buy nice clothes or toys for her son. Once, when she was going to the market with some grain to sell, she asked her son, "What can I get you from the market?" He promptly replied, "A drum, Mother, get me a drum."
The mother knew she would never have enough money to buy a drum for her son. She went to the market, sold the grain, and bought some gram flour and some salt. She felt sad that she was coming home empty-handed. So when she saw a nice piece of wood on the road, she picked it up and brought it home to her son. The son didn't know what to do with it.

Yet he carried it with him when he went out to play. An old woman was lighting her woodstove with some cow-dung patties. The fire was not catching and there was smoke all around and it made the old woman's eyes water. The boy stopped and asked why she was crying. She said that she couldn't light her fire and cook. The boy said, "I have a nice piece of wood and you can start your fire with it." The old woman was very pleased, lit the fire, made some bread, and gave a piece to the boy.

He took the bread and walked on till he came upon a potter's wife. Her child was crying and flailing his arms. The boy stopped and asked her why the child was crying. The potter's wife said the child was hungry and she had nothing in the house to give him. The boy gave the bread in his hand to the hungry child, who ate it eagerly and stopped crying. The potter's wife was grateful to the boy and gave him a pot.

When he walked on, he came to the river, where he saw a washerman and his wife quarreling. The boy stopped and asked the man why he was scolding and beating his wife. The washerman said, "This woman broke the only pot we had. Now I've nothing to boil my clothes in before I wash them." The boy said, "Here, don't quarrel, take this pot and use it." The washerman was very happy to get a large pot. He gave the boy a coat in return.

The boy walked on. He soon came to a bridge, where he saw a man shivering in the cold without so much as a shirt on him. He asked the man what had happened to his shirt, and the man said, "I was coming to the city on this horse. Robbers attacked me and took everything, even my shirt." The boy said, "Don't worry. You can have this coat." The man took the coat and said, "You're very kind, and I want to give you this horse."

The boy took the horse, and very soon he ran into a wedding party with the musicians, the bridegroom, and his family, but all of them were sitting under a tree with long faces. The boy stopped and asked why they looked so depressed. The bridegroom's father said, "We're all set to go in a wedding procession. But we need a horse for the bridegroom. The man who was supposed to bring it hasn't arrived. The bridegroom can't arrive on foot. It's getting late, and we'll miss the auspicious hour for the wedding." So the boy offered them his horse, and they were delighted. When the bridegroom asked him what he could do in return, the boy said, "You can give me something: that drum your musician is carrying." The bridegroom had no trouble persuading the drummer to give the drum to the boy. The drummer knew he could easily buy another with the money he was going to get.

The boy now rushed home to his mother, beating his new drum, and told her how he got it, beginning with a piece of wood from the roadside.

Bear and fox

2008-11-11T17:33:00.000-08:00

THE big bear and the clever fox had once bought a firkin of butter together; they were to have it at Christmas-tide, and hid it till then under a thick spruce bush.
After that they went a little way off and lay down on a sunny bank to sleep. So when they had lain a while the fox got up, shook himself, and bawled out "yes."
Then he ran off straight to the firkin and ate a good third part of it. But when he came back, and the bear asked him where he had been since he was so fat about the paunch, he said,
"Don't you believe then that I was bidden to a childbed feast."
"So, so," said the bear. "What was the young's name?"
"Just-begun," said the fox.
So they lay down to sleep again. In a little while up jumped the fox again, bawled out "yes," and ran off to the firkin.
This time, too, he ate a good lump. When he came back, and the bear asked him again where he had been, he said,
"Oh wasn't I bidden to a naming childbed party again, don't you think."
"And pray what was the young's name this time?" asked the bear.
"Half-eaten," said the fox.
The bear thought that a very queer name, but he hadn't wondered long over it before he began to yawn and gape, and fell asleep. Well, he hadn't lain long before the fox jumped up as he had done twice before, bawled out "yes," and ran off to the firkin, which this time he cleared right out. When he got back he had been bidden to childbed feast again, and when the bear wanted to know the young's name he answered,
"Licked-to-the-bottom."
After that they lay down again, and slept a long time; but then they were to go to the firkin to look at the butter, and when they found it eaten up, the bear threw the blame on the fox, and the fox on the bear; and each said the one had been at the firkin while the other slept.
"Well, well," said Reynard, "we'll soon find this out, which of us has eaten the butter. We'll just lay down in the sunshine, and he whose cheeks and chaps are GREasiest when we wake, he is the thief."
Yes, that trial the big bear felt ready to stand; and as he knew in his heart he had never so much as tasted the butter.
Then Reynard stole off to the firkin for a morsel of butter, which stuck there in a crack. Then he crept back to the bear who now lay without a care, sleeping in the sun, and greased his chaps and cheeks with it. Then he, too, lay down to sleep as if nothing had happened.
So when they both woke, the sun had melted the butter, and the bear's whiskers were all greasy; so it was the bear after all, and no one else, who had eaten the butter.

three short years

2008-11-09T23:49:00.000-08:00

Liu Shan, the Emperor of Shu-Han, passed away in the seventh year of GREat Beginning, in
Jin calendar （AD 271）。 Cao Huang, the Emperor of Wei, passed away in the first year of
Magnificent Peace （AD 302）。 And Sun Hao, the Emperor of Wu, passed away in the fourth
year of Prosperous Peace （AD 283）。 All three died of natural causes.
　　A poet has summed up the history of these stirring years in a poem：
　　[hip, hip, hip] It was the dawning of a glorious day When first the Founder of the House
of Han Xianyang's proud Palace entered. Noontide came When Liu Xiu the imperial rule
restored. Alas, that Liu Xian succeeded in full time And saw the setting of the sun of power
！
　　He Jin, the feeble, fell beneath the blows Of Palace minions. Dong Zhuo, vile though
bold, Then ruled the court. The plot Wang Yun To oust him, failed, recoiled on his own head.
The Li Jue and Guo Si lit up the flame of war And brigands swarmed like ants through all the
land. Then rose the valiant and deployed their might. Sun Ce carved out a kingdom in the
southeast, North of Yellow River the Yuans strove to make their own. Liu Zhang went west and
seized on Ba and Shu, Liu Biao laid hold on Jingzhou and Chu, Zhang Lu, in turn held
Hanzhong by force. Ma Teng and Han Sui kept Xiliang. Tao Qian and Gongsun Zan built up
quarters, Zhang Xiu and Lu Bu challenged the bold. But overtopping all Cao Cao the strong
Became first minister, and to his side, Drew many able people. He swayed the court, Without,
he held the nobles in his hand；By force of arms he held the capital Against all rivals. Of
imperial stock Was born Liu Bei, who with sworn brothers twain Made oath the dynasty should
be restored. These wandered homeless east and west for years, A petty force. But Destiny was
kind And led Liu Bei to Nanyang's rustic cot, Where lay Sleeping Dragon, he who Already that
the empire must be rent. Twice Liu Bei essayed in vain to see the sage Once more he went？
And then his fortune turned. Jingzhou fell to him, followed the River Lands, A fitting base
to build an empire on. Alas！ He ruled there only three short years, Then left his only son
to Zhuge Liang's care. Full nobly Zhuge Liang played protector's part, Unceasing strove to
win first place for Shu；But Fate forbade； one night for aye his star Went down behind the
rampart of the hills. Jiang Wei the strong inherited his task And struggled on for years.
But Zhong Hui and Deng Ai Attacked the Hans' last stronghold, and it fell. Five sons of Cao
Cao sat on the dragon throne, And Sima Yan snatched the court from Cao Huang. Before him
bowed the kings of Shu and Wu, Content to forfeit kingly power for life. All down the ages
rings the note of change, For fate so rules it； none escapes its sway. The three kingdoms
have vanished as a dream, The useless misery is ours to grieve. THE END[e]* [yip, yip, yip]
homeless east and west for years, A petty force. But Destiny was kind And led Liu Bei to
Nanyang's rustic cot, Where lay Sleeping Dragon, he who Already that the empire must be
rent. Twice Liu Bei essayed in vain to see the sage Once more he went？ And then his fortune
turned. Jingzhou fell to him, followed the River Lands, A fitting base to build an empire
on. Alas！
　　He ruled there only three short years, Then left his only son to Zhuge Liang's care.
Full nobly Zhuge Liang played protector's part, Unceasing strove to win first place for Shu
；But Fate forbade； one night for aye his star Went down behind the rampart of the hills.
Jiang Wei the strong inherited his task And struggled on for years. But Zhong Hui and Deng
Ai Attacked the Hans' last stronghold, and it fell. Five sons of Cao Cao sat on the dragon
throne, And Sima Yan snatched the court from Cao Huang. Before him bowed the kings of Shu
and Wu, Content to forfeit kingly power for life. All down the ages rings the note of
change, For fate so rules it； none escapes its sway. The three kingdoms have vanished as a
dream, The useless misery is ours to grieve.

Murders of princes

2008-11-08T23:48:00.000-08:00

Raising his wine cup, and in a voice broken by emotion, he said, “Today's success is
the merit of the Imperial Guardian. I reGREt that he is not here to share our rejoicings.”
　　In Wu, Sun Xi, General of the Flying Cavalry, went away from the court and wailed,
facing the south.
　　“Alas, ye blue heavens！ What manner of man is this Sun Hao to yield thus the heritage
of his family, won by the sword of General Sun Jian the Martially Glorious in the brave days
that are past？”
　　Meantime the victors marched homeward, and Sun Hao went to Luoyang to present himself at
court. In his capacity of minister, he prostrated himself at the feet of the Emperor of the
Jin Dynasty in the Hall of Audience. He was allowed a seat.
　　“I set that seat for you long since,” said the Ruler of Jin.
　　“Thy servant also set a seat for Your Majesty in the south,” retorted Sun Hao.
　　the Ruler of Jin laughed loudly.
　　then Jia Chong turned to Sun Hao and said, “I hear, Sir, that when you were in the
south, they gouged out people's eyes and flayed their faces. What crimes were so punished？
”
　　“Murders of princes and malicious speech and disloyal conduct were so punished！”
　　Jia Chong was silenced, for he was ashamed.
　　Sun Hao was created Lord of Guiming. His sons and grandsons received minor ranks and
other grades were conferred upon his ministers who had followed him in his surrender. The
sons and grandsons of the late Prime Minister of Wu, Zhang Ti, who had perished in battle,
were given ranks. The victorious leader, Wang Jun, was rewarded with the title General Who
Upholds the State. And many other ranks were conferred to the Jin officers.
　　the three states now became one empire under the rule of Sima Yan of the Jin Dynasty.
That is domains under heaven, after a long period of union, tends to divide； after a long
period of division, tends to unite.

offer submission

2008-11-07T23:48:00.000-08:00

Shidou has been a southern capital of China for successive dynasties. A beautiful
place, Shidou was considered a treasure by the emperors of Yuan Dynasty （Mongol rule）。
Located near Shanghai where the GREat River meets the East Sea, Shidou's modern name is
Nanjing.
　　But Wang Jun would not listen. Drawing his sword, he said, “I wish to capture Capital
Shidou*, and will not hear of anchoring.”
　　So he compelled the sailing master to continue. On the way Zhang Xiang, one of the
leaders of Wu, came to offer surrender.
　　“If you are in earnest, you will lead the way and help me,” said Wang Jun.
　　Zhang Xiang consented, returned to his own ship, and led the squadron. When he reached
the walls of Shidou, he called to the defenders to open the gates and allow the Jin army to
enter. The gates were opened.
　　When the Ruler of Wu heard that his enemies had actually entered the capital city, he
wished to put an end to his life, but his officers prevented this.
　　Secretary Hu Zong and Palace Officer Xue Rong said, “Your Majesty, why not imitate the
conduct of Liu Shan of Shu, now Duke of Anle？”
　　So Sun Hao no longer thought of death, but went to offer submission. He bound himself
and took a coffin with him. His officers followed him. He was graciously received, and the
Jin General Wang Jun himself loosened the bonds, and the coffin was burned. The vanquished
Ruler was treated with the ceremony due to a prince.
　　A poet of the Tang Dynasty wrote a few lines on this surrender：
　　[hip, hip, hip] Adown the stream ride storied warships tall；With massive chains some
seek to stop their way. But Jiangling's independence fades away, And soon “We yield” is
signaled from the wall. Full oft I think of bygone days and sigh, Along the stream, unmoved,
the old hills rest, While I am homeless on the earth's broad breast, Where grim old forts
stand gray beneath the sky. [yip, yip, yip]
　　therefore Wu was subdued and ceased to exist as a state. Its 4 regions, 43 counties, 313
districts, 5,230,000 families, 62,000 civil officers, 230,000 soldiers and military
officers, 23,000,000 inhabitants, its stores of grain and over five thousand large ships,
all fell booty to the victorious Jin Dynasty. In the women's quarters of the Palace were
found more than five thousand persons.
　　Proclamations were issued； treasuries and storehouses were sealed. Tao Jun's navy soon
melted away without striking a blow. Wang Jun was GREatly elated at his success. Sima Zhou,
Prince of Langye, and General Wang Rong also arrived and congratulated each other.
　　When Du Yu, the Commander-in-Chief, arrived, there were GREat feastings and rewards for
the soldiers. The granaries were opened and doles of grain issued to the people, so that
they also were glad of peace.
　　Only one city stood out——Jianping, under Governor Wu Yang. However, he too surrendered
when he heard the capital had fallen.
　　the tidings of all these successes reached Capital Luoyang just at the celebration of
the birthday of the Ruler of Jin, and the rejoicings and congratulations were redoubled. At
one of the banquets the Ruler of Jin did honor to the memory of the late Yang Hu.

chinese story - 1 4

2008-11-06T23:46:00.000-08:00

understand nothing. You are bent upon winning some sort of glory at the expense of our
soldiers' lives. Death would be too good for you！”
　　“Why wrangle？” said Sima Yan. “Zhang Hua aGREes with me, and he knows my wishes.”
　　Just at this moment came a memorial from the leader Du Yu also recommending advance,
whereupon the Ruler of Jin decided that the army should go on.
　　the royal mandate duly reached the camp of Wang Jun, and the Jin navy went out to the
attack in GREat pomp. The soldiers of Wu made no defense, but surrendered at once.
　　When Sun Hao, the Ruler of Wu, heard his armies had surrendered thus, he turned pale,
and his courtiers said, “What is to be done？ Here the northern army comes nearer every day
and our troops just give in.”
　　“But why do they not fight？” said Sun Hao.
　　the courtiers replied, “The one evil of today is Eunuch Cen Hun. Slay him, and we
ourselves will go out and fight to the death！”
　　“How can a eunuch harm a state？” cried Sun Hao.
　　“Have we not seen what Huang Hao did in Shu？” shouted the courtiers in chorus.
　　Moved by sudden fury, the courtiers rushed into the Palace, found the wretched object of
their hate and slew him, and even feeding on his palpitating flesh.
　　then Tao Jun said, “All my ships are small, but give me large vessels and I will place
thereon twenty thousand marines and go forth to fight. I can defeat the enemy.”
　　His request was granted, and the royal guards were sent up the river to join battle,
while another naval force went down stream, led by Leader of the Van Zhang Xiang. But a
heavy gale came on. The flags were blown down and lay over in the ships, and the marines
would not embark. They scattered leaving their leader with only a few score men.
　　Wang Jun, the leader of Jin, set sail and went down the river.
　　After passing Three Mountains, the sailing master of his ship said, “The gale is too
strong for the fleet to go on. Let us anchor till the storm has moderated.”

chinese story- 13

2008-11-05T23:44:00.000-08:00

“We all know that the land is doomed,” replied Zhang Ti. “But if we make no defense,
and no one dies for his country, shall we not be shamed？”
　　Zhuge Xing left, weeping； and Zhang Ti went with Shen Zong to the army. The invaders
soon arrived, and the Jin General Zhou Zhi was the first to break into the camp. Zhang Ti
resisted stubbornly, but was soon slain in a melee, and Shen Zong was killed by Zhou Zhi.
The army of Wu was defeated and scattered.
　　[hip, hip, hip] Jin's army banners waved on Bashan Mountains And trusty Zhang Ti in
Jiangling fighting died；He accepted not that the kingly grace was spent, He rather chose to
die than shame his side. [yip, yip, yip]
　　the armies of Jin conquered at Niuzhu and penetrated deeply into the country of Wu. From
his camp Wang Jun sent a report of his victory to Luoyang, and Sima Yan was pleased.
　　But Jia Chong again opposed further fighting, saying, “The armies have been long
absent, and the soldiers will suffer from the unhealthiness of the southern country. It
would be well to call them home.”
　　Zhang Hua spoke against this course, saying, “the Jin army has reached the very home
and center of the enemy. Soon Wu courage will fail, and the Ruler of Wu himself will be our
prisoner. To recall the army now would be to waste the efforts already made.”
　　the Ruler of Jin inclined to neither side.

the vixen and the lioness

2008-10-28T18:48:00.000-07:00

One morning when a vixen was taking her babies out of the lair, she saw a lioness and her cub.
　　"Why do you have only one child, dear dame?" asked the vixen.
　　"Look at my healthy and numerous children here, and imagine, if you are able, how a proud mother should feel."
　　the lioness said calmly, "Yes, just look at that beautiful collection. What are they? Foxes! I've only one, but remember, that one is a lion."

Be there just to make up the number

2008-10-06T18:53:00.000-07:00

During the Warring States Period (475-221BC), the King of the State of Qi was very fond of listening to yu ensembles. He often got together 300 yu players to form a grand music. The king treated his musician very well. A man named Nanguo heard about that and he managed to become a member of the band, even though he wan not good at playing the instrument at all. Whenever the band played for the king, Nanguo just stood in the line and pretended to play. Nobody realized he was making no sound at all. As a result, he enjoyed his treatment just as the other musician did. When the king died, his son became the new ruler who also liked the music played on the yu. However, he preferred solos so that he ordered the musicians to play the yu one by one. Therefore, Nanguo had to run out of the palace.
　　The idiom "Be there just to make up the number" is used to mock someone who passes for a specialist. You can also hear people saying it about themselves to show their modesty.
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Do not burn you house to get rid of a mouse

2008-10-06T18:52:00.000-07:00

There is a story in "Hanshu" telling of a rich man, who being a lover of s and had a large collection. Among them was a rare vase made of jade. The vase of exquisite workmanship and of historical value and he loved it dearly. One night he noticed a mouse passing near the precious vase. The mouse jumped into the vase and was trying to eat some food which the man had carelessly left there. The sigh infuriated the man and in a fit of rage he threw a stone at the mouse. For sure, the mouse was killed, but the precious vase was broken also. The loss of the vase pained the man and he deeply regretted his own thoughtlessness, which bought him this unrecoverable loss. He now realized that any one, who cares for the present and overlooks consequences is apt to bring disasters upon himself. So he exclaimed to warn people by saying do not burn you house to get rid of a mouse.
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A Roc's flight of ten thousand li-A bright future

2008-10-06T18:51:00.000-07:00

In the Chinese classic 《Chuangtze》, there is a legend like this:
　　Once upon a time, a gigantic fish named Kun lived in the northern sea. No one knew how large it actually was. This fish could change itself into the enormous bird called Peng (roc), measuring thousands of kilometers in length. When the bird was spreading its wings, it looked like huge clouds in the sky. It could, in one stretch, fly from the northern sea to the southern sea on the other side of the globe and soaring up to 90000 li (45000 kilometers) in the heaven.
　　The bird can surely fly over a long distance without stop. Now people use this idiom to with others have a long career or a bright future.
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The horse which does harm to the herd-A black sheep

2008-10-06T18:50:00.000-07:00

It was about four thousand years ago. Huangdi (Yellow Emperor)-the first legendary ruler in China went to the countryside to visit an old friend with his entourage. They met a boy keeping watch over a herd of horses on their way.
　　Huangdi asked the boy, "Do you know the way to my friend's village far away from here?"
　　The boy said yes.
　　Then the emperor asked, "Do you know my friend?"
　　The answer was yes again.
　　Huangdi thought the boy was broad-minded. So he asked him,"Do you know how to rule a country?"
　　The boy said, "There is little difference between ruling a country and watching over a herd of horses. You simply have to drive the wild horses out of the herd."
　　The emperor left, brooding over the boy's words.
　　The idiom is taken from what the boy said and is used to describe anyone who has a bad influence on his peers.

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Bring the dying back to life

2008-10-06T18:47:00.000-07:00

Long long ago, there was a famous doctor named Bian Que who usually traveled everywhere to collect medicine to cure patients.
　　One day, he heard about the sudden death of the prince of the State of Guo when he was passing the country. He inquired about the case of the prince from an official. Then he decided the prince wasn't dead, but was suffering a strange illness. He told the official he could save the prince and bring him back to life. He asked the official to take him to the capital. At first, the official rejected. But he was so insistent that the official to report it to the King. Since there was no any other way the King had to let Bian have a try. Bian used acupuncture therapy and the prince responded in no time. Then he continued to prescribe some medicine for a hot compress. Immediately, the prince sat up. Before he left, Bian gave 20 doses of medicine to the prince. And the prince recovered completely in 20 days.
　　Later, people use the idiom to praise the excellent skill of a doctor.
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Helen Keller

2008-10-05T23:42:00.000-07:00

All of us have read thrilling stories in which the hero had only a limited and specified time to live. Sometimes it was as long as a year; sometimes as short as twenty-four hours, but always we were interested in discovering just how the doomed man chose to spend his last days or his last hours. I speak, of course, of free men who have a choice, not condemned criminals whose sphere of activities is strictly delimited.
　　Such stories set up thinking, wondering what we should do under similar circumstances. What associations should we crowd into those last hours as mortal beings? What happiness should we find in reviewing the past, what regrets?
　　 Sometimes I have thought it would be an excellent rule to live each day as if we should die tomorrow. Such an attitude would emphasize sharply the values of life. We should live each day with a gentleness, a vigor, and a keenness of appreciation which are often lost when time stretches before us in the constant panorama of more days and months and years to come. There are those, of course, who would adopt the epicurean motto of “Eat, drink, and be merry,” most people would be chastened by the certainty of impending death.

　　Most of us take life for granted. We know that one day we must die, but usually we picture that day as far in the future, when we are in buoyant health, death is all but unimaginable. We seldom think of it. The days stretch out in an endless vista. So we go about our petty task, hardly aware of our listless attitude towards life.
　　The same lethargy, I am afraid, characterizes the use of our faculties and senses. Only the deaf appreciate hearing, only the blind realize the manifold blessings that lie in sight. Particularly does this observation apply to those who have lost sight and hearing in adult life. But those who have never suffered impairment of sight or hearing seldom make the fullest use of these blessed faculties. Their eyes and ears take in all sights and sound hazily, without concentration, and with little appreciation. It is the same old story of not being grateful for what we conscious of health until we are ill.
　　I have often thought it would be a blessing if each human being were stricken blind and deaf for a few days at some time during his early adult life. Darkness would make him more appreciative of sight; silence would teach him the joys of sound.
　　Now and then I have tested my seeing friends to discover what they see. Recently I was visited by a very good friend who had just returned from a long walk in the woods, and I asked her what she had observed. “Nothing in particular,” she replied. I might have been incredulous had I not been accustomed to such responses, for long ago I became convinced that the seeing see little.

　　How was it possible, I asked myself, to walk for an hour through the woods and see nothing worthy of note? I who cannot see find hundreds of things to interest me through mere touch. I feel the delicate symmetry of a leaf. I pass my hands lovingly about the smooth skin of a silver birch, or the rough shaggy bark of a pine. In spring I touch the branches of trees hopefully in search of a bud, the first sign of awakening Nature after her winter’s sleep I feel the delightful, velvety texture of a flower, and discover its remarkable convolutions; and something of the miracle of Nature is revealed to me. Occasionally, if I am very fortunate, I place my hand gently in a small tree and feel the happy quiver of a bird in full song. I am delighted to have cool waters of a brook rush through my open fingers. To me a lush carpet of pine needles or spongy grass is more welcome than the most luxurious Persian rug. To me the pageant of seasons is a thrilling and unending drama, the action of which streams through my finger tips. At times my heart cries out with longing to see all these things. If I can get so much pleasure from mere touch, how much more beauty must be revealed by sight. Yet, those who have eyes apparently see little. The panorama of color and action fill the world is taken for granted. It is human, perhaps, to appreciate little that which we have and to long for that which we have not, but it is a great pity that in the world of light and the gift of sight is used only as mere convenience rather that as a means of adding fullness to life.
　　Oh, the things that I should see if I had the power of sight for three days!

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Beautiful Smile and Love

2008-10-05T23:41:00.000-07:00

The poor are very wonderful people. One evening we went out and we picked up four people from the street. And one of them was in a most terrible condition，and I told the sisters: You take care of the other three. I take care of this one who looked worse. So I did for her all that my love can do. I put her in bed, and there was such a beautiful smile on her face. She took hold of my hand as she said just the words “thank you” and she died. I could not help but examine my conscience[良心]before her and I asked what would I say if I was in her place. And my answer was very simple. I would have tried to draw a little attention to myself. I would have said I am hungry, that I am dying, I am cold, I am in pain, or something, but she gave me much more-she gave me her grateful love. And she died with a smile on her face. As did that man whom we picked up from the drain[阴沟、下水道], half eaten with worms, and we brought him to the home. “I have lived like an animal in the street, but I am going to die like an angel, loved and cared for.” And it was so wonderful to see the greatness of that man who could speak like that, who could die like that without blaming anybody, without cursing anybody, without comparing anything. Like an angel-this is the greatness of our people. And that is why we believe what Jesus had said: I was hungry, I was naked, I was homeless, I was unwanted, unloved, uncared for, and you did it to me.

I believe that we are not real social workers. We may be doing social work in the eyes of the people, but we are really contemplatives[修行者、沉思冥想的人] in the heart of the world. For we are touching the body of Christ twenty-four hours…And I think that in our family we don’t need bombs and guns, to destroy, to bring peace, just get together, love one another, bring that peace, that joy, that strength of presence of each other in the home. And we will be able to overcome all the evil that is in the world.

And with this prize that I have received as a Prize of Peace, I am going to try to make the home for many people who have no home. Because I believe that love begins at home, and if we can create a home for the poor I think that more and more love will spread. And we will be able through this understanding love to bring peace be the good news to the poor. The poor in our own family first, in our country and in the world. To be able to do this, our Sisters, our lives have to be wove with prayer. They have to be woven with Christ to be able to understand, to be able to share. Because to be woven with Christ is to be able to understand, to be able to share. Because today there is so much suffering…When I pick up a person from the street, hungry, I give him a plate of rice, a piece of bread, I have satisfied. I have removed that hunger. But a person who is shut out, who feels unwanted, unloved, terrified, the person who has been thrown out from society-that poverty is so full of hurt and so unbearable…And so let us always meet each other with a smile, for the smile is the beginning of love, and once we begin to love each other naturally we want to do something.

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Water Pot --2

2008-10-05T23:40:00.001-07:00

A water bearer in India had two large pots, each hung on each end of a pole which he carried across his neck. One of the pots had a crack in it, and while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water at the end of the long walk from the stream to the master's house, the cracked pot arrived only half full.

For two years this went on daily, with the water bearer delivering one and one-half pots full of water to his masters house. Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, perfect to the end for which it was made. But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it was able to accomplish only half of what it had been made to do. After two years of what it had perceived to be bitter failure, it spoke one day to the water bearer by the stream.

"I am ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to you."

"Why?" asked the bearer. "What are you ashamed of?"

"I have been able for these last two years to deliver only half my load, because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your master's house. Because of my flaws, you have to do all this work, and you do not get full value for your efforts," the pot explained.

The water bearer felt sorry for the cracked pot, and in his compassion, he said, "As we return to the masters house, I want you to notice the beautiful flowers along the path." Indeed, as they went up the hill, the cracked pot took notice of the sun warming the beautiful wild flowers on the side of the path, and this cheered it some. But, at the end of the trail, it still felt bad because it had still leaked half of its load, and so again the pot apologized to the bearer for its failure. The bearer said to the pot: "Did you notice that there were flowers only on your side of the path, but not on the other pot's side? That is because I have always known about your flaw, and I took advantage of it. I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back from the stream, you have watered them. For two years I have been able to pick those beautiful flowers to decorate my master's table. Without you being just the way you are, he would not have this beauty to grace his house."

Each of us has our own unique flaws. We are all cracked pots. But if we will allow it, the Lord will use our flaws to grace His Father's table. In God's great economy, nothing goes to waste. Don't be ashamed of your flaws.

Acknowledge them, and you too can be the cause of beauty. Know that in our weakness we find our strength.

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Water Pot --1

2008-10-05T23:38:00.000-07:00

A water bearer in India had two large pots, each hung on each end of a pole which he carried across his neck. One of the pots had a crack in it, and while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water at the end of the long walk from the stream to the master's house, the cracked pot arrived only half full.

For two years this went on daily, with the water bearer delivering one and one-half pots full of water to his masters house. Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, perfect to the end for which it was made. But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it was able to accomplish only half of what it had been made to do. After two years of what it had perceived to be bitter failure, it spoke one day to the water bearer by the stream.

"I am ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to you."

"Why?" asked the bearer. "What are you ashamed of?"

"I have been able for these last two years to deliver only half my load, because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your master's house. Because of my flaws, you have to do all this work, and you do not get full value for your efforts," the pot explained.

The water bearer felt sorry for the cracked pot, and in his compassion, he said, "As we return to the masters house, I want you to notice the beautiful flowers along the path." Indeed, as they went up the hill, the cracked pot took notice of the sun warming the beautiful wild flowers on the side of the path, and this cheered it some. But, at the end of the trail, it still felt bad because it had still leaked half of its load, and so again the pot apologized to the bearer for its failure. The bearer said to the pot: "Did you notice that there were flowers only on your side of the path, but not on the other pot's side? That is because I have always known about your flaw, and I took advantage of it. I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back from the stream, you have watered them. For two years I have been able to pick those beautiful flowers to decorate my master's table. Without you being just the way you are, he would not have this beauty to grace his house."

Each of us has our own unique flaws. We are all cracked pots. But if we wll allow it, the Lord will use our flaws to grace His Father's table. In God's great economy, nothing goes to waste. Don't be ashamed of your flaws.

Acknowledge them, and you too can be the cause of beauty. Know that in our weakness we find our strength.

Note: Chinese-Online (http://www.chinesepal.cn/) is a place to Learn Chinese, and to find free Chinese Tutors to teach Chinese Lessons ,a place to learn mandarin! The fees is in the page(http://www.chinesepal.cn/class_type.html).The Site map of our site to learn Chinese language is the link(http://www.chinesepal.cn/sitemap.html).You can find something what you want to Learn Chinese Online! If you have interested Learn Mandarin Chinese Online ! Please click the link to study Chinese Language! Your Chinese Translation will begin to here! you can find Chinese characters, Chinese writing , Chinese dictionary and so on!

Three Peach Stones

2008-10-05T23:36:00.000-07:00

Observe a child; any one will do. You will see that not a day passes in which he does not find something or other to make him happy, though he may be in tears the next moment. Then look at a man; any one of us will do. You will notice that weeks and months can pass in which day is greeted with nothing more than resignation1, and endure with every polite indifference. Indeed, most men are as miserable as sinners, though they are too bored to sin-perhaps their sin is their indifference2. But it is true that they so seldom smile that when they do we do not recognize their face, so distorted is it from the fixed mask we take for granted3. And even then a man can not smile like a child, for a child smiles with his eyes, whereas a man smiles with his lips alone. It is not a smile; but a grin; something to do with humor4, but little to do with happiness. And then, as anyone can see, there is a point (but who can define that point?) when a man becomes an old man, and then he will smile again.

It would seem that happiness is something to do with simplicity, and that it is the ability to extract pleasure form the simplest things-such as a peach stone, for instance.

It is obvious that it is nothing to do with success. For Sir Henry Stewart was certainly successful. It is twenty years ago since he came down to our village from London , and bought a couple of old cottages, which he had knocked into one. He used his house a s weekend refuge5. He was a barrister. And the village followed his brilliant career with something almost amounting to paternal pride.

I remember some ten years ago when he was made a King's Counsel6, Amos and I, seeing him get off the London train, went to congratulate him. We grinned with pleasure; he merely looked as miserable as though he'd received a penal sentence. It was the same when he was knighted; he never smiled a bit, he didn't even bother to celebrate with a round of drinks at the "Blue Fox"7. He took his success as a child does his medicine. And not one of his achievements brought even a ghost of a smile to his tired eyes.

I asked him one day, soon after he'd retired to potter about his garden,8 what is was like to achieve all one's ambitions. He looked down at his roses and went on watering them. Then he said "The only value in achieving one's ambition is that you then realize that they are not worth achieving." Quickly he moved the conversation on to a more practical level, and within a moment we were back to a safe discussion on the weather. That was two years ago.

I recall this incident, for yesterday, I was passing his house, and had drawn up my cart just outside his garden wall. I had pulled in from the road for no other reason than to let a bus pass me. As I set there filling my pipe, I suddenly heard a shout of sheer joy come from the other side of the wall.

I peered over. There stood Sir Henry doing nothing less than a tribal war dance9 of sheer unashamed ecstasy. Even when he observed my bewildered face staring over the wall he did not seem put out10 or embarrassed, but shouted for me to climb over.

"Come and see, Jan. Look! I have done it at last! I have done it at last!"

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There he was, holding a small box of earth in his had. I observed three tiny shoots out of it.

"And there were only three!" he said, his eyes laughing to heaven.

"Three what?" I asked.

"Peach stones", he replied. "I've always wanted to make peach stones grow, even since I was a child, when I used to take them home after a party, or as a man after a banquet. And I used to plant them, and then forgot where I planted them. But now at last I have done it, and, what's more, I had only three stones, and there you are, one, two, three shoots," he counted.

And Sir Henry ran off, calling for his wife to come and see his achievement-his achievement of simplicity.

An Act of Kindness

2008-09-25T22:44:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-25T22:43:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-25T22:41:00.000-07:00

"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

2008-09-25T22:40:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-25T22:38:00.000-07:00

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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Hold onto Mom, my Child

2008-09-24T19:27:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-24T19:26:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-24T19:24:00.002-07:00

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

2008-09-24T19:24:00.001-07:00

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

2008-09-24T19:23:00.000-07:00

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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A country maid

2008-09-23T19:23:00.002-07:00

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

2008-09-23T19:23:00.001-07:00

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

2008-09-23T19:22:00.001-07:00

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

2008-09-23T19:20:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-23T19:19:00.000-07:00

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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An Empty Box

2008-09-22T20:34:00.002-07:00

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

2008-09-22T20:34:00.001-07:00

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

2008-09-22T20:33:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-22T20:32:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-22T20:31:00.000-07:00

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)

2008-09-22T00:12:00.001-07:00

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

2008-09-22T00:11:00.004-07:00

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

2008-09-22T00:11:00.003-07:00

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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Learn chinese

2008-09-22T00:11:00.001-07:00

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

2008-09-22T00:10:00.000-07:00

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.

Note:chinese-online(http://www.chinesepal.cn) is a place to Learn Chinese, to find free chinese tutor to teach chinese madarin, a place to be!The fees is in the page(http://www.chinesepal.cn/class_type.html).If you have Interested!please click it.