A father was worried about his son, who was sixteen years old but had no courage at all. So the father decided to call on a Buddhist monk to train his boy.
The Buddhist monk said to the boy’s father, “You should leave your son alone here. I’ll make him into a real man within three months. However, you can’t come to see him during this period. ” Three months later, the boy’s father returned. The Buddhist monk arranged a boxing match between the boy and an experienced boxer. Each time the fighter struck the boy, he fell down, but at once the boy stood up; and each time a punch knocked him down, the boy stood up again. Several times later, the Buddhist monk asked, “What do you think of your child?” “What a shame!” the boy’s father said. “I never thought he would be so easily knocked down. I needn’t have him left here any longer.” “I’m sorry that that’s all you see. Don’t you see that each time he falls down; he stands up again instead of crying? That’s the kind of courage you wanted him to have.”
2012年6月8日星期五
a wooden bowl
a wooden bowl
A frail old man went to live with his son, daughter-in-law, and a four-year-old grandson. The old man's hands trembled, his eyesight was blurred, and his step faltered. The family ate together nightly at the dinner table. But the elderly grandfather's shaky hands and failing sight made eating rather difficult. Peas rolled off his spoon onto the floor. When he grasped the glass often milk spilled on the tablecloth.
The son and daughter-in-law became irritated with the mess. So the husband and wife set a small table in the corner. There, grandfather ate alone while the rest of the family enjoyed dinner at the dinner table. Since grandfather had broken a dish or two, his food was served in a wooden bowl.
Sometimes when the family glanced in grandfather's direction, he had a tear in his eye as he ate alone. Still, the only words the couple had for him were sharp admonitions when he dropped a fork or spilled food. The four-year-old son watched it all in silence.
One evening before supper, the father noticed his son playing with wood scraps on the floor. He asked the child sweetly, “What are you making?” Just as sweetly, the boy responded, “Oh, I am making a little bowl for you and mama to eat your food from when I grow up.” The four-year-old son smiled and went back to work. The words so struck the parents that they were speechless. Then tears started to stream down their cheeks. Though no word was spoken, both knew what must be done. That evening the husband took grandfather's hand and gently led him back to the family table.
For the remainder of his days he ate every meal with the family. And for some reason, neither husband nor wife seemed to care any longer when a fork was dropped, milk spilled, or the tablecloth soiled. Children are remarkably perceptive. Their eyes always observe, their ears always listen, and their minds always process the messages they absorb. If they see us patiently provide a happy home atmosphere for family members, they will imitate that attitude for the rest of their lives. The wise parent realizes that every day is being laid for the child's future.
Let us all be wise builders and role models. Take care of yourself...and those you love...today, and everyday!
A frail old man went to live with his son, daughter-in-law, and a four-year-old grandson. The old man's hands trembled, his eyesight was blurred, and his step faltered. The family ate together nightly at the dinner table. But the elderly grandfather's shaky hands and failing sight made eating rather difficult. Peas rolled off his spoon onto the floor. When he grasped the glass often milk spilled on the tablecloth.
The son and daughter-in-law became irritated with the mess. So the husband and wife set a small table in the corner. There, grandfather ate alone while the rest of the family enjoyed dinner at the dinner table. Since grandfather had broken a dish or two, his food was served in a wooden bowl.
Sometimes when the family glanced in grandfather's direction, he had a tear in his eye as he ate alone. Still, the only words the couple had for him were sharp admonitions when he dropped a fork or spilled food. The four-year-old son watched it all in silence.
One evening before supper, the father noticed his son playing with wood scraps on the floor. He asked the child sweetly, “What are you making?” Just as sweetly, the boy responded, “Oh, I am making a little bowl for you and mama to eat your food from when I grow up.” The four-year-old son smiled and went back to work. The words so struck the parents that they were speechless. Then tears started to stream down their cheeks. Though no word was spoken, both knew what must be done. That evening the husband took grandfather's hand and gently led him back to the family table.
For the remainder of his days he ate every meal with the family. And for some reason, neither husband nor wife seemed to care any longer when a fork was dropped, milk spilled, or the tablecloth soiled. Children are remarkably perceptive. Their eyes always observe, their ears always listen, and their minds always process the messages they absorb. If they see us patiently provide a happy home atmosphere for family members, they will imitate that attitude for the rest of their lives. The wise parent realizes that every day is being laid for the child's future.
Let us all be wise builders and role models. Take care of yourself...and those you love...today, and everyday!
love lights
I looked at my beautiful Christmas tree and sighed. It was time. The New Year was a week old and my tree still stood in the corner of our room with its collection of memories proudly displayed in a shower of colorful lights. I'd procrastinated long enough.
I got up, went to the garage and hauled all the boxes into the room. The garland was the first to come down. The tree looked naked already. I took the large ornaments off next. They made a large pile on our bed. An hour later, our bed was covered with Christmas memories. Each pile contained an ornament along with its matching brothers and sisters from sets purchased many years ago.
I prepared the boxes and carefully placed ornaments in their protective packaging, pausing every few minutes to admir a favorite. "Hey, little Santa!" I held the Santa from my childhood. "Thanks for being my friend for almost fifty years." He was a little ragged but still gives me a flood of wonderful memories. —Until next year, my dear friend."
There was a collection of handmade ones. My children made in their first years of school, more than twenty years ago. Made by tiny hands, they are far from perfect in design, but every year they go on my memory tree — memories of young giggles on Christmas morning and a smiling face when they handed them to me when I came home from work. "Look what we made, Daddy!"
”
"Oh! It is beautiful. Let's find a special spot on the tree for it." Every year since, they are displayed.
A few hours after I started, the filled boxes were back in the garage, the room was vacuumed and I sat staring at a barren corner. The room seemed so empty. It took me two days of work to assemble and decorate my tree, but only a few hours to take it apart.
My tree is a good marriage or a great friendship. Like the tree, they take a long time to assemble and decorate with memories, but can be torn down quickly. All it takes is an unkind word or a thoughtless act, and what once stood proudly in the glow of love comes tumbling down.
Every year I have to put my tree away, but not my marriage or friendships. I take great care of those. They get to glow in the corner of my life for as long as I live. I get to analyze my tree and find memories for a few weeks every year. I can do the same with the loves in my life every day. When I held the Santa, a flood of wonderful memories returned. The same happens when I hold my wife or see the smile of a friend across the room.
Take great care of your friendships and your marriage. Once they come down, they aren't as easy to put back together as a Christmas tree, if at all. Stand them in that special spot in the corner of your heart and admire their glow.
salty coffee
He met her at a party. She was outstanding; many guys were after her, but nobody paid any attention to him. After the party, he invited her for coffee. She was surprised. So as not to appear rude, she went along.
As they sat in a nice coffee shop, he was too nervous to say anything and she felt uncomfortable. Suddenly, he asked the waiter, "Could you please give me some salt? I'd like to put it in my coffee."
They stared at him. He turned red, but when the salt came, he put it in his coffee and drank. Curious, she asked, "Why salt with coffee?" He explained, "When I was a little boy, I lived near the sea. I liked playing on the sea ... I could feel its taste salty, like salty coffee. Now every time I drink it, I think of my childhood and my hometown. I miss it and my parents, who are still there."
She was deeply touched. A man who can admit that he's homesick must love his home and care about his family. He must be responsible.
She talked too, about her faraway hometown, her childhood, her family. That was the start to their love story.
They continued to date. She found that he met all her requirements. He was tolerant, kind, warm and careful. And to think she would have missed the catch if not for the salty coffee!
So they married and lived happily together. And every time she made coffee for him, she put in some salt, the way he liked it.
After 40 years, he passed away and left her a letter which said:
My dearest, please forgive my life-long lie. Remember the first time we dated? I was so nervous I asked for salt instead of sugar.
It was hard for me to ask for a change, so I just went ahead. I never thought that we would hit it off. Many times, I tried to tell you the truth, but I was afraid that it would ruin everything.
Sweetheart, I don't exactly like salty coffee. But as it mattered so much to you, I've learnt to enjoy it. Having you with me was my greatest happiness. If I could live a second time, I hope we can be together again, even if it means that I have to drink salty coffee for the rest of my life.
It felt so good being back home
It felt so good being back home
A gentle breeze blew through Jennifer’s hair. The golden red sun was setting. She was on the beach， looking up at the fiery ball. She was amazed by its color， deep red in the middle， softly fading into yellow. She could hear nothing but the waves and the seagulls flying up above in the sky.
The atmosphere relaxed her. After all she had been through， this is what she needed. “It’s getting late，” she thought， “I must go home， my parents will be wondering where I am.”
She wondered how her parents would react， when she got home after the three days she was missing. She kept on walking， directing herself to bungalow 163， where she spent every summer holiday. The road was deserted. She walked slowly and silently. Just in a few hundred meters she would have been safe in her house.
It was really getting dark now， the sun had set a few minutes before and it was getting cold too. She wished she had her favorite jumper on： it kept her really warm. She imagined having it with her. This thought dissipated when she finally saw her front door. It seemed different. Nobody had taken care of the outside garden for a few days. She was shocked： her father was usually so strict about keeping everything clean and tidy， and now.。。 It all seemed deserted. She couldn’t understand what was going on.
She entered the house. First， she went into the kitchen where she saw a note written by her father. It said： “Dear Ellen， there is some coffee ready， I went looking.” Ellen was her mother but - where was she？ On the right side of the hallway was her parents’ room. She went in. Then she saw her. Her mother， lying on the bed， sleeping. Her face looked so tired， as if she hadn’t slept for days. She was really pale. Jenny would have wanted to wake her up but she looked too tired to force her. So Jenny just fell asleep beside her. When Jennifer woke up something was different.。.she wasn’t in her mother’s room and she wasn’t wearing the old clothes she ran away in. She was in her cozy bed in her pajamas.
It felt so good being back home. Suddenly she heard a voice. “Are you feeling better now， dear？ You know you got us very， very scared.”
A gentle breeze blew through Jennifer’s hair. The golden red sun was setting. She was on the beach， looking up at the fiery ball. She was amazed by its color， deep red in the middle， softly fading into yellow. She could hear nothing but the waves and the seagulls flying up above in the sky.
The atmosphere relaxed her. After all she had been through， this is what she needed. “It’s getting late，” she thought， “I must go home， my parents will be wondering where I am.”
She wondered how her parents would react， when she got home after the three days she was missing. She kept on walking， directing herself to bungalow 163， where she spent every summer holiday. The road was deserted. She walked slowly and silently. Just in a few hundred meters she would have been safe in her house.
It was really getting dark now， the sun had set a few minutes before and it was getting cold too. She wished she had her favorite jumper on： it kept her really warm. She imagined having it with her. This thought dissipated when she finally saw her front door. It seemed different. Nobody had taken care of the outside garden for a few days. She was shocked： her father was usually so strict about keeping everything clean and tidy， and now.。。 It all seemed deserted. She couldn’t understand what was going on.
She entered the house. First， she went into the kitchen where she saw a note written by her father. It said： “Dear Ellen， there is some coffee ready， I went looking.” Ellen was her mother but - where was she？ On the right side of the hallway was her parents’ room. She went in. Then she saw her. Her mother， lying on the bed， sleeping. Her face looked so tired， as if she hadn’t slept for days. She was really pale. Jenny would have wanted to wake her up but she looked too tired to force her. So Jenny just fell asleep beside her. When Jennifer woke up something was different.。.she wasn’t in her mother’s room and she wasn’t wearing the old clothes she ran away in. She was in her cozy bed in her pajamas.
It felt so good being back home. Suddenly she heard a voice. “Are you feeling better now， dear？ You know you got us very， very scared.”
So even if you've lost something, let it go and move on
So even if you've lost something, let it go and move on
There once was a master who went to India. In those times, we didn't have the communications or airplanes or many kinds of transportation that we do now. So the master went to India on foot. He had never been to India before; perhaps he came from Persia. And when he got there, he saw a lot of fruit. In India they have plenty of fruit to sell, but much of it is expensive because they can't grow much due to the water situation. So he saw one basket, a big basket of some very red, long fruit. And it was the cheapest in the shop, not expensive at all.
So he went up and asked, "How much per kilo?" And the shopkeeper said, "Two rupees." Two rupees in India is nothing; it's like dirt. So he bought a whole kilogram of the fruit and started eating it. But after he ate some of it: Oh, my God! His eyes watered, his mouth watered and burned, his eyes were burning, his head was burning and his face became red. As he coughed and choked and gasped for breath, he jumped up and down, saying, "Ah! Ah! Ah!"
But he still continued to eat the fruit! Some people who were looking at him shook their heads and said, "You're crazy, man. Those are chilies! You can't eat so many; they're not good for you! People use them as a condiment, but only a little bit to put into food for taste. You can't just eat them by the handful like that; they're not fruit!" So the stupid master said, "No, I can't stop! I paid money for them, and now I'll eat them. It's my money!"
And you think that master was stupid, right? Similarly, we sometimes do a lot of things like that. We invest money, time or effort in a relationship, business or job. And even though it's been a long time, bitter experience tells us it won't work, and we know there's no more hope that things will change in the future - this we definitely know by intuition - we still continue just because we've invested money, time, effort and love into it. If so, we're kaput in the brain. Just like the man who ate the chilies and suffered so much but couldn't stop because he didn't want to waste the money he'd paid.
So even if you've lost something, let it go and move on. That's better than continuing to lose.
There once was a master who went to India. In those times, we didn't have the communications or airplanes or many kinds of transportation that we do now. So the master went to India on foot. He had never been to India before; perhaps he came from Persia. And when he got there, he saw a lot of fruit. In India they have plenty of fruit to sell, but much of it is expensive because they can't grow much due to the water situation. So he saw one basket, a big basket of some very red, long fruit. And it was the cheapest in the shop, not expensive at all.
So he went up and asked, "How much per kilo?" And the shopkeeper said, "Two rupees." Two rupees in India is nothing; it's like dirt. So he bought a whole kilogram of the fruit and started eating it. But after he ate some of it: Oh, my God! His eyes watered, his mouth watered and burned, his eyes were burning, his head was burning and his face became red. As he coughed and choked and gasped for breath, he jumped up and down, saying, "Ah! Ah! Ah!"
But he still continued to eat the fruit! Some people who were looking at him shook their heads and said, "You're crazy, man. Those are chilies! You can't eat so many; they're not good for you! People use them as a condiment, but only a little bit to put into food for taste. You can't just eat them by the handful like that; they're not fruit!" So the stupid master said, "No, I can't stop! I paid money for them, and now I'll eat them. It's my money!"
And you think that master was stupid, right? Similarly, we sometimes do a lot of things like that. We invest money, time or effort in a relationship, business or job. And even though it's been a long time, bitter experience tells us it won't work, and we know there's no more hope that things will change in the future - this we definitely know by intuition - we still continue just because we've invested money, time, effort and love into it. If so, we're kaput in the brain. Just like the man who ate the chilies and suffered so much but couldn't stop because he didn't want to waste the money he'd paid.
So even if you've lost something, let it go and move on. That's better than continuing to lose.
What does a woman want?
Once a man confessed, "The great question I have not been able to answer is What does a woman want?" Many husbands and boyfriends wonder the same thing today. But modern psychologists—and women—know the answer. A woman wants most everything a man wants: success, power, status, money, love, marriage, children, happiness, and fulfillment.
Women need to communicate this more clearly. Here are five things that should be told to men.
1. Women need genuine, personal displays of affection .
The breed of women who lives off the expensive gifts a man gives her is vanishing. A woman who values love for its own sake tends to be wary of gifts that are too costly. An expensive gift can make her feel that a man is trying to buy her affections and sees her as a prize rather than a person.
Gifts that give women genuine pleasure are those with a personal touch-an item of clothing, for example—because such gifts, when chosen properly, are statements of caring and high form of flattery, demonstrating recognition of a loved one's special tastes. The best gifts, from a woman's point of view, are those that are on going, rather than flamboyant. In fact, what's missing from a lot of lives is romance, such as doing small chores for her, sharing a laugh with her. These are the "gifts" that really count.
2. Women need a sympathetic ear .
A simple conversation can be different event to a man and a woman. For a man, a conversation is a way to define a problem, debate the rights and wrongs, and find a solution. To do that, he may repeatedly interrupt the woman until she "understands" the point he's making. But a woman would rather have a friendly ear from a man, instead of advice. Women more often view conversation as a way of sharing their emotions with the listener. They talk until they feel better. A man who wants to get through to a woman conversationally needs to tap into emotions rather than solutions. And, often, that can mean just listening.
3. Women don't fall in love as easily as men do .
Men tend to be romantics, often falling in love more quickly than women, who tend to focus on practical considerations in choosing a mate. Women are looking for long-term qualities in a partner. Far more than men, they allow their heads to control their hearts. Even though women may ache for love, they carry around an inner evaluator who asks, Can I count on this man? So any man who hopes to sweep a woman off her feet had better lengthen his timetable, and pay as much attention to characteristics such as kindness and dependability as he does to his hair, his clothes and his adaptability.
4. Women are good problem-solvers .
Men and women solve problem in different ways. A man tends to be direct—line up all his options, select one, then proceed. Women are more likely to simply let problems solve themselves-for example, by giving a child more time to adjust to a new teacher, rather than insisting on an immediate classroom change.
5. A woman wants to be friends with her husband .
"Few women relish being a mother, secretary or general picker-upper for their husbands. A woman wants the man in her life to be a true equal, someone who respects her strength, treats her weaknesses with kindness, and expects her to be the same for him. In short, she wants a friend, a lover and a partner who understands her.
Women need to communicate this more clearly. Here are five things that should be told to men.
1. Women need genuine, personal displays of affection .
The breed of women who lives off the expensive gifts a man gives her is vanishing. A woman who values love for its own sake tends to be wary of gifts that are too costly. An expensive gift can make her feel that a man is trying to buy her affections and sees her as a prize rather than a person.
Gifts that give women genuine pleasure are those with a personal touch-an item of clothing, for example—because such gifts, when chosen properly, are statements of caring and high form of flattery, demonstrating recognition of a loved one's special tastes. The best gifts, from a woman's point of view, are those that are on going, rather than flamboyant. In fact, what's missing from a lot of lives is romance, such as doing small chores for her, sharing a laugh with her. These are the "gifts" that really count.
2. Women need a sympathetic ear .
A simple conversation can be different event to a man and a woman. For a man, a conversation is a way to define a problem, debate the rights and wrongs, and find a solution. To do that, he may repeatedly interrupt the woman until she "understands" the point he's making. But a woman would rather have a friendly ear from a man, instead of advice. Women more often view conversation as a way of sharing their emotions with the listener. They talk until they feel better. A man who wants to get through to a woman conversationally needs to tap into emotions rather than solutions. And, often, that can mean just listening.
3. Women don't fall in love as easily as men do .
Men tend to be romantics, often falling in love more quickly than women, who tend to focus on practical considerations in choosing a mate. Women are looking for long-term qualities in a partner. Far more than men, they allow their heads to control their hearts. Even though women may ache for love, they carry around an inner evaluator who asks, Can I count on this man? So any man who hopes to sweep a woman off her feet had better lengthen his timetable, and pay as much attention to characteristics such as kindness and dependability as he does to his hair, his clothes and his adaptability.
4. Women are good problem-solvers .
Men and women solve problem in different ways. A man tends to be direct—line up all his options, select one, then proceed. Women are more likely to simply let problems solve themselves-for example, by giving a child more time to adjust to a new teacher, rather than insisting on an immediate classroom change.
5. A woman wants to be friends with her husband .
"Few women relish being a mother, secretary or general picker-upper for their husbands. A woman wants the man in her life to be a true equal, someone who respects her strength, treats her weaknesses with kindness, and expects her to be the same for him. In short, she wants a friend, a lover and a partner who understands her.
heart in heart
I grew up in Jamaica Plain, an urban community located on the 1)outskirts of Boston, 2)Massachusetts. In the 1940’s it was a 3)wholesome, 4)quaint little community. It was my home and I loved it there; back then I thought I would never leave. My best friend Rose and I used to collectively dream about raising a family of our own someday. We had it all planned out to live next door to one another.
Our dream remained alive through 5)grade school, high school, and even beyond. Rose was my 6)maid of honor when I got married in 1953 to the love of my life, Dick. Even then she joked that she was just one perfect guy short of being married, thus bringing us closer to our dream. Meanwhile, Dick aspired to be an officer in the 7)Marines and I fully supported his ambitions. I realized that he might be 8)stationed far away from Jamaica Plain, but I told him I would 9)relocate and adjust. The idea of experiencing new places together seemed somewhat romantic to me.
So, in 1955 Dick was stationed in Alaska and we relocated. Rose was sad to see me leave, but wished me the best of luck. Rose and I remained in touch for a few years via periodic phone call but after awhile we lost track of one another. Back in the 1950’s it was a lot more difficult to stay in touch with someone over a long distance, especially if you were relocating every few years. There were no email addresses or10)transferable phone number and directory lookup services were 11)mediocre at best.
I thought of her several times over the years. Once in the mid 1960’s when I was visiting the Greater Boston area I tried to determine her 12)whereabout but my search turned up empty-handed. Jamaica Plain had changed 13)drastically in the 10 years I was gone. A pretty obvious shift in income demographics was affecting my old neighborhood. My family had moved out of the area, as did many of the people I used to know. Rose was nowhere to be found.
52 years passed and we never spoke. I’ve since raised a family of five, all of whom now have families of their own, and Dick passed away a few years ago. Basically, a lifetime has passed. Now here I am at the doorstep to my 80th birthday and I receive a random phone call on an idle Wednesday afternoon. “Hello?” I said. “Hi Natalie, it’s Rose,” the voice on the other end replied. “It’s been so long. I don’t know if you remember me, but we used to be best friends in Jamaica Plain when we were kid” she said.
We haven’t seen each other yet, but we have spent countless hours on the phone14)catching up on 52 years of our lives. The interesting thing is that even after 52 years of separation our personalities and interests are still extremely similar. We both share a passion for several hobbies that we each 15)picked up independently several years after we lost touch with one another. It almost feels like we are picking up right where we left off, which is really strange considering the circumstances.
Her husband passed away a few years ago as well, but she mailed me several photographs of her family that were taken over the years. It’s so crazy, just looking at the photos and listening to her describe her family reminds me of my own; a reasonably large, healthy family. Part of me feels like we led fairly similar lives.
I don’t think the numerous similarities between our two lives are a coincidence either. I think it shows that we didn’t just call each other best friend we truly were best friend and even now we can be best friends again. Real friends have two things in common: a compatible personality and a strong-willed character. The compatible personality is what initiates the connection between two people and a strong-willed character at both ends is what maintains the connection. If those two ingredients are present in a friendship, the friendship is for real, and can thus sustain the tests of time and prolonged absence without 16)faltering.
10 words to you
10 words to you
1.You never know how strong you really are until being strong is the only choice you have。
2.You cannot change what you refuse to confront。
3.No matter how many mistakes you make or how slow you progress, you are still way ahead of everyone who isn’t trying。
4.Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass, it’s about learning to dance in the rain。
5.Letting go doesn't mean that you're a quitter. It doesn't mean that you lost. It just means that you realize in that moment that's it's time to let go and move on。
6.If you are passionate about something, pursue it, no matter what anyone else thinks. That’s how dreams are achieved。
7.Give up worrying about what others think of you. What they think isn’t important. What is important is how you feel about yourself。
8.You can learn great things from your mistakes when you aren’t busy denying them。
9.Never let success get to your head, and never let failure get to your heart。
10.Life is short and you deserve to be happy。
1.You never know how strong you really are until being strong is the only choice you have。
2.You cannot change what you refuse to confront。
3.No matter how many mistakes you make or how slow you progress, you are still way ahead of everyone who isn’t trying。
4.Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass, it’s about learning to dance in the rain。
5.Letting go doesn't mean that you're a quitter. It doesn't mean that you lost. It just means that you realize in that moment that's it's time to let go and move on。
6.If you are passionate about something, pursue it, no matter what anyone else thinks. That’s how dreams are achieved。
7.Give up worrying about what others think of you. What they think isn’t important. What is important is how you feel about yourself。
8.You can learn great things from your mistakes when you aren’t busy denying them。
9.Never let success get to your head, and never let failure get to your heart。
10.Life is short and you deserve to be happy。
to dad
It takes more than blood to be a dad.
Oh this is surely a proven fact.
It takes more than blood to be a dad.
Oh this is surely a proven fact.
I've seen men give his heart to a child ...
Never once think of taking it back.
A Dad is the one who is always there;
He protects a child from all harm.
He gives a child the assurance that he
will be their anchor in any storm.
A real Dad is a man that teaches his child
all the things in life he needs to know.
He's the tower of strength a child leans on.
The source of love that helps them grow.
There are men that children call Daddy.
Oh, he is their shelter when it rains.
He showers them with unconditional love.
As if it were his blood in their veins.
Whenever you meet a Dad that redefines the word,
honor him with all the respect that is due.
Understand that he proudly wears this banner ...
Because his heart is big enough for you.
It's sad but true that not all men understand
it takes more than blood to be a dad.
Someday if they wake up to their empty life ...
They shall miss what they could have had.
To those men who will never be a dad ...
No matter what they say or do.
It takes more than blood to possess that title ...
And it's only found in a man like you.
Oh this is surely a proven fact.
It takes more than blood to be a dad.
Oh this is surely a proven fact.
I've seen men give his heart to a child ...
Never once think of taking it back.
A Dad is the one who is always there;
He protects a child from all harm.
He gives a child the assurance that he
will be their anchor in any storm.
A real Dad is a man that teaches his child
all the things in life he needs to know.
He's the tower of strength a child leans on.
The source of love that helps them grow.
There are men that children call Daddy.
Oh, he is their shelter when it rains.
He showers them with unconditional love.
As if it were his blood in their veins.
Whenever you meet a Dad that redefines the word,
honor him with all the respect that is due.
Understand that he proudly wears this banner ...
Because his heart is big enough for you.
It's sad but true that not all men understand
it takes more than blood to be a dad.
Someday if they wake up to their empty life ...
They shall miss what they could have had.
To those men who will never be a dad ...
No matter what they say or do.
It takes more than blood to possess that title ...
And it's only found in a man like you.
2012年6月7日星期四
Austrian crematorium officials have blamed a deceased woman's obesity for causing a blaze
Austrian crematorium officials have blamed a deceased woman's obesity for causing a blaze which had to be tackled by firefighters.
Firemen in the southern city of Graz were covered in thick sticky soot as they tried to prevent the blaze from taking hold of the building
Some countries such as Switzerland and the UK already have facilities which cater for extra large bodies, in line with the growing trend of expanding waistlines.
Speaking to the Daily Mail online, funeral director Christea Bogdan, of Gillman Undertakers, Tooting, south London, said he had never before in his career heard of such an event.
'I have never come across such a case,' he said.
An expert report on the Austria fire has revealed that the woman being cremated weighed more than 200kg - or 31st 7lbs - and her size had caused the oven to overheat.
The press reports state that the filter temperature reached 300C and officials realised there was a problem when thick black smoke started billowing into the building.
The device was immediately switched off but by then there was already a fire in the filter.
Firemen whose clothing was left covered with a layer of greasy black soot were snapped as they tackled the difficult to extinguish blaze in special breathing gear to avoid breathing in the fumes.
In the end they had to bring the fire under control by sending a blast of water in through the vents used to clear the filter. Repair work took several days during which time the crematorium was out of action.
Firemen said that after reports of similar problems at other cemeteries not only in Austria but also in Switzerland, officials were now are considering a ban on larger bodies.
Graz-based fireman Otto Widetschek said: 'Crematorium officials need to be more responsible and not just automatically put everybody in to be cremated.'
He said that in Switzerland there were moves now to make sure that XXL bodies were routinely shipped to a special crematorium able to deal with the extra heat caused by larger bodies.
Firemen in the southern city of Graz were covered in thick sticky soot as they tried to prevent the blaze from taking hold of the building
Some countries such as Switzerland and the UK already have facilities which cater for extra large bodies, in line with the growing trend of expanding waistlines.
Speaking to the Daily Mail online, funeral director Christea Bogdan, of Gillman Undertakers, Tooting, south London, said he had never before in his career heard of such an event.
'I have never come across such a case,' he said.
An expert report on the Austria fire has revealed that the woman being cremated weighed more than 200kg - or 31st 7lbs - and her size had caused the oven to overheat.
The press reports state that the filter temperature reached 300C and officials realised there was a problem when thick black smoke started billowing into the building.
The device was immediately switched off but by then there was already a fire in the filter.
Firemen whose clothing was left covered with a layer of greasy black soot were snapped as they tackled the difficult to extinguish blaze in special breathing gear to avoid breathing in the fumes.
In the end they had to bring the fire under control by sending a blast of water in through the vents used to clear the filter. Repair work took several days during which time the crematorium was out of action.
Firemen said that after reports of similar problems at other cemeteries not only in Austria but also in Switzerland, officials were now are considering a ban on larger bodies.
Graz-based fireman Otto Widetschek said: 'Crematorium officials need to be more responsible and not just automatically put everybody in to be cremated.'
He said that in Switzerland there were moves now to make sure that XXL bodies were routinely shipped to a special crematorium able to deal with the extra heat caused by larger bodies.
This is a face only a mother could love
This is a face only a mother could love... but from now on you should have no trouble putting a name to it. Tang Shuquan, 43, may appear very, very ugly in these pictures but his look has won him the Guinness World Record for making the most twisted face.
And now, he's launched a challenge to the public to see if anyone out there can match him.
Tang has offered a 100,000 yuan ($10,250) reward to anyone who can defeat him in a face-off to find the ugliest.
Tang, from Chengdu City, Sichuan province, China, says he's the world's foremost gurning expert and no-one can match him.
He perfected his art for seven years to create the most screwed up face possible before unleashing his unique talent on the world 10 years ago.
In March he took part in an Italian Guinness World Records TV show on the country's Channel 5 and yesterday was awarded $10,000 in prize money and a Guinness medal.
he is not ugly when doesnot change his face haha
A Story Happened on An Uninhabited Island
The only survivor of a shipwreck was washed up on a small, uninhabited island. He prayed feverishly for God to rescue him, and every day he scanned the horizon for help, but none seemed forthcoming.
Exhausted, he eventually managed to build a little hut out of driftwood to protect him from the elements, and to store his few possessions. But then one day, after scavenging for food, he arrived home to find his little hut in flames, the smoke rolling up to the sky.
The worst had happened; everything was lost.
He was stunned with grief and anger. "God how could you do this to me!" he cried.
Early the next day, however, he was awakened by the sound of a ship that was approaching the island. It had come to rescue him. "How did you know I was here?" asked the weary man of his rescuers. "We saw your smoke signal," they replied.
It is easy to get discouraged when things are going bad.
But we shouldn't lose heart, because God is at work in our lives, even in the midst of pain and suffering.
Remember, next time your little hut is burning to the ground it just may be a smoke signal that summons the grace of God.
For all the negative things we have to say to ourselves, God has a positive answer for it .
Exhausted, he eventually managed to build a little hut out of driftwood to protect him from the elements, and to store his few possessions. But then one day, after scavenging for food, he arrived home to find his little hut in flames, the smoke rolling up to the sky.
The worst had happened; everything was lost.
He was stunned with grief and anger. "God how could you do this to me!" he cried.
Early the next day, however, he was awakened by the sound of a ship that was approaching the island. It had come to rescue him. "How did you know I was here?" asked the weary man of his rescuers. "We saw your smoke signal," they replied.
It is easy to get discouraged when things are going bad.
But we shouldn't lose heart, because God is at work in our lives, even in the midst of pain and suffering.
Remember, next time your little hut is burning to the ground it just may be a smoke signal that summons the grace of God.
For all the negative things we have to say to ourselves, God has a positive answer for it .
Random Thoughts on the Window
It is spring again and the window can be left open as often as one would like. As spring comes in through the windows, so people——unable to bear staying inside any longer——go outdoors. The spring outside, however, is much too cheap, for the sun shines on everything, and so does not seem as bright as that which shoots into the darkness of the house. Outside the sun-slothed breeze blows everywhere, but it is not so lively as that which stirs the gloominess inside the house. Even the chirping of the birds sounds so thin and broken that the quietness of the house is needed to set it off. It seems that spring was always meant to be put behind a windowpane for show, just like a picture in a frame.
At the same time it also becomes clear that the door has a different significance from the window. Of course, doors were made for people to pass through; but a window can also sometimes serve as an entrance or as an exit, and is used as such by thieves and by lovers in novels. In fact the fundamental difference between a door and a window has nothing to do with them being either entrances or exits. When it comes to the admiration of spring, it could be put this way: a door makes it possible for one to go out, whereas a window makes it possible for one not to have to. A window helps to pull down the partition between man and nature. It leads breezes and sunlight in, and keeps part of the spring in the house. It allows one to sit and enjoy the spring in peace, and makes it unnecessary to go looking for it outside.
At the same time it also becomes clear that the door has a different significance from the window. Of course, doors were made for people to pass through; but a window can also sometimes serve as an entrance or as an exit, and is used as such by thieves and by lovers in novels. In fact the fundamental difference between a door and a window has nothing to do with them being either entrances or exits. When it comes to the admiration of spring, it could be put this way: a door makes it possible for one to go out, whereas a window makes it possible for one not to have to. A window helps to pull down the partition between man and nature. It leads breezes and sunlight in, and keeps part of the spring in the house. It allows one to sit and enjoy the spring in peace, and makes it unnecessary to go looking for it outside.
The Scar on mother face
A little boy invited his mother to attend his elementary school’s first teacher-parent conference. To the little boy s dismay, she said she would go. This would be the first time that his classmates and teacher met his mother and he was embarrassed by her appearance. Although she was a beautiful woman, there was a severe scar that covered nearly the entire right side of her face. The boy never wanted to talk about why or how she got the scar.
At the conference, the people were impressed by the kindness and natural beauty of his mother despite the scar, but the little boy was still embarrassed and hid himself from everyone. He did, however, get within earshot of a conversation between his mother and his teacher, and heard them speaking.
"How did you get the scar on your face?" the teacher asked.
The mother replied, "When my son was a baby, he was in a room that caught on fire . Everyone was too afraid to go in because the fire was out of control, so I went in. As I was running toward his crib , I saw a beam coming down and I placed myself over him trying to protect him. I was knocked unconscious but fortunately, a fireman came in and saved both of us." She touched the burned side of her face. "This scar will be permanent 8, but to this day, I have never regretted doing what I did."
At this point, the little boy came out running towards his mother with tears in his eyes. He hugged her and felt an overwhelming sense of the sacrifice that his mother had made for him. He held her hand tightly for the rest of the day.
say love
There was once a guy who suffered from cancer, a cancer that can’t be cured. He was 18 years old and he could die anytime. All his life, he was stuck in his house being taken cared by his mother. He never went outside but he was sick of staying home and wanted to go out for once. So he asked his mother and she gave him permission.
He walked down his block and found a lot of stores. He passed a CD store and looked through the front door for a second as he walked. He stopped and went back to look into the store. He saw a beautiful girl about his age and he knew it was love at first sight. He opened the door and walked in, not looking at anything else but her. He walked closer and closer until he was finally at the front desk where she sat.
She looked up and asked, “Can I help you?”
She smiled and he thought it was the most beautiful smile he has ever seen before and wanted to kiss her right there.
He said, “Uh... Yeah... Umm... I would like to buy a CD.”
He picked one out and gave her money for it.
“Would you like me to wrap it for you?” she asked, smiling her cute smile again.
He nodded and she went to the back. She came back with the wrapped CD and gave it to him. He took it and walked out of the store.
He went home and from then on, he went to that store every day and bought a CD, and she wrapped it for him. He took the CD home and put it in his closet. He was still too shy to ask her out and he really wanted to but he couldn’t. His mother found out about this and told him to just ask her. So the next day, he took all his courage and went to the store as usual. He bought a CD like he did every day and once again she went to the back of the store and came back with it wrapped. He took it and when she wasn’t looking, he left his phone number on the desk and ran out...
RRRRRING!!!
One day the phone rang, and the mother picked it up and said, “Hello?”
It was the girl!!! The mother started to cry and said, “You don’t know? He passed away yesterday...”
The line was quiet except for the cries of the boy’s mother. Later in the day, the mother went into the boy’s room because she wanted to remember him. She thought she would start by looking at his clothes. So she opened the closet.
She was face to face with piles and piles and piles of unopened CDs. She was surprised to find all these CDs and she picked one up and sat down on the bed and she started to open one. Inside, there was a CD and as she took it out of the wrapper, out fell a piece of paper. The mother picked it up and started to read it. It said: Hi... I think U R really cute. Do u wanna go out with me? Love, Jocelyn.
The mother was deeply moved and opened another CD...
Again there was a piece of paper. It said: Hi... I think U R really cute. Do u wanna go out with me? Love, Jocelyn.
Love is... when you’ve had a huge fight but then decide to put aside your egos, hold hands and say, “I Love You.”
He walked down his block and found a lot of stores. He passed a CD store and looked through the front door for a second as he walked. He stopped and went back to look into the store. He saw a beautiful girl about his age and he knew it was love at first sight. He opened the door and walked in, not looking at anything else but her. He walked closer and closer until he was finally at the front desk where she sat.
She looked up and asked, “Can I help you?”
She smiled and he thought it was the most beautiful smile he has ever seen before and wanted to kiss her right there.
He said, “Uh... Yeah... Umm... I would like to buy a CD.”
He picked one out and gave her money for it.
“Would you like me to wrap it for you?” she asked, smiling her cute smile again.
He nodded and she went to the back. She came back with the wrapped CD and gave it to him. He took it and walked out of the store.
He went home and from then on, he went to that store every day and bought a CD, and she wrapped it for him. He took the CD home and put it in his closet. He was still too shy to ask her out and he really wanted to but he couldn’t. His mother found out about this and told him to just ask her. So the next day, he took all his courage and went to the store as usual. He bought a CD like he did every day and once again she went to the back of the store and came back with it wrapped. He took it and when she wasn’t looking, he left his phone number on the desk and ran out...
RRRRRING!!!
One day the phone rang, and the mother picked it up and said, “Hello?”
It was the girl!!! The mother started to cry and said, “You don’t know? He passed away yesterday...”
The line was quiet except for the cries of the boy’s mother. Later in the day, the mother went into the boy’s room because she wanted to remember him. She thought she would start by looking at his clothes. So she opened the closet.
She was face to face with piles and piles and piles of unopened CDs. She was surprised to find all these CDs and she picked one up and sat down on the bed and she started to open one. Inside, there was a CD and as she took it out of the wrapper, out fell a piece of paper. The mother picked it up and started to read it. It said: Hi... I think U R really cute. Do u wanna go out with me? Love, Jocelyn.
The mother was deeply moved and opened another CD...
Again there was a piece of paper. It said: Hi... I think U R really cute. Do u wanna go out with me? Love, Jocelyn.
Love is... when you’ve had a huge fight but then decide to put aside your egos, hold hands and say, “I Love You.”
white bird
white bird
Charles saw them both at the same time: a small white bird and the girl wheeling down the walk. The bird glided downward and rested in the grass; the girl directed the chair smoothly along the sunlit, shadowy1 walk. She stopped to watch the ducks on the pond and when she shoved2 the wheels again, Charles stood up. “May I push you?” he called, running across the grass to her. The white bird flew to the top of a tree.
It was mostly he who talked and he seemed afraid to stop for fear she'd ask him to leave her by herself. Nothing in her face had supported the idea of helplessness conveyed by the wheelchair, and he knew that his assistance was not viewed as a favor. He asked the cause of her handicap3 .
“It was an automobile accident when I was twelve,” Amy explained.
They went for lunch, and he would have felt awkward4 except that she knew completely how to take care of herself.
“Do you live with someone?” he asked the next day when they met.
“Just myself,” she answered. Asking the question made him feel uneasy because of his own loneliness even though he was hoping for this answer.
He came to like to feel the white handles in his grasp, to walk between the two white-rimmed metal wheels. And he grew almost more familiar with the slight wave at the back of her hair than with her eyes or her mouth. Once, he said to the wave at the back of her hair,“I hope I'm the only chair-pusher in your life,” but she had only smiled a little and her eyes had admitted nothing.
She cooked dinner for him once in June. He expected her to be proud of her ability to do everything from her seat in the wheelchair—and was faintly5 disappointed to see that she would not feel pride at what was, for her, simply a matter of course6. He watched his own hand pick up the salt shaker7 and place it on one of the higher unused shelves, and awaited her plea8 for assistance. He didn't know why he'd done it, but the look in her eyes made him realize how cruel his prank9 was. To make her forget what he'd done, he told her about the little white bird in the park.
“I've seen it, too,” she said. “I read a poem once about a little white bird that came to rest on a windowsill10 and the lady who lived in the house began to put out food for it. Soon the lady fell in love, but it was a mismatched11 love. Every day the little bird came to the window and the lady put out food. When the love affair was over, the little white bird never returned, but the woman went on putting out the crumbs12 every day for years and the wind just blew them away."
In July he took her boating frequently. The most awkward event, she felt, was getting in and out of the boat. For Charles, however, these “freight handlings,” as she came to call it, seemed to be the highlight13 of the outings. In the boat she felt helpless, unable to move around, sitting in one spot. Also, she was unable to swim, should the boat turn over. Charles didn't observe her discomfort; she did note how much he enjoyed being in control. When he called for her one day in early August, she refused to.
They would, instead, she said, go for a walk in which she would move herself by the strength of her own arms and he would walk beside her.
“Why don't you just rest your arms and let me push you?”
“No.”
“Your arms will get sore14. I've been helping you do it for three months now.”
“I wheeled myself for twelve years before you came along.”
“But I don't like having to walk beside you while you push yourself!”
“Do you think I liked sitting helpless in your boat every weekend for the past two months?”
He never considered this and was shocked into silence. Finally he said quietly, “I never realized that, Amy. You're in a wheelchair all the time—I never thought you'd mind sitting in the boat. It's the same thing.”
“It is not the same thing. In this chair, I can move by myself; I can go anywhere I need to go. That boat traps me so I can't do anything—I couldn't even save myself if something happened and I fell out.”
“But I'm there. Don't you think I could save you or help you move or whatever it is you want?”
“Yes, but Charles—the point is I've spent twelve years learning to manage by myself. I even live in a city that's miles from my family so I'll have to be independent and do things for myself. Being placed in the boat takes all that I've won away from me. Can't you see why I object to it? I don't want to feel helpless.”
As they went down the path Charles selfishly only thought of his own needs, finally he lost control and said，“Amy, I need to have you dependent upon me.” He grabbed the wheelchair and pushed her along. She had to let go of the wheels or injure herself. He could not see the anger in her eyes, and it was just as well for it was an anger he would not have understood.
She would not answer her telephone the next morning but in his mail that afternoon came an envelope that he knew had come from Amy. The handwriting was not beautiful, but it was without question hers. Inside was only a card on which she had written:
If you want something badly enough，
You must let it go free.
If it comes back to you,
It's yours.
If it doesn't,
You really never had it anyway.
(Anonymous15)
He ran out of his apartment, refusing to believe that Amy might no longer be in her home. As he was running towards her apartment, he kept hearing a roar in his ears: “You must let it go free; you must let it go free.”
But he thought: I can't risk it, she is mine, can't give her a chance not to belong to me, can't let her think she doesn't need me, she must need me. Oh God, I have to have her.
But her apartment was empty. Somehow in the hours overnight, she had packed—by herself—and moved by herself. The rooms were now impersonal16; their cold stillness could not respond when he fell to the floor and sobbed.
By the middle of August he had heard nothing from Amy. He went often to the park but avoided looking for the white bird.
September came and had almost gone before he finally received a letter. The handwriting was without question hers. The postmark was that of a city many miles distant. He tore open the envelope and at first thought it was empty. Then he noticed a single white feather had fallen from it. In his mind, the white bird rose in flight and its wings let fly one feather. Were it not for the feather, no one would have known that the white bird had ever been. Thus he knew Amy would not be back, and it was many hours before he let the feather drop out of his hand.
I have two adopt sisters
An only child, a perfectly ordinary little girl in rural Wisconsin, I wanted sisters more than anything. When I turned seven, my parents made a decision that delighted me beyond measure: they chose to adopt.
It was Christmastime when my two new sisters, aged 6 and 3, arrived from Colombia. They came with a great flourish of celebration, as friends and relatives visited us bearing gifts to welcome them. That evening our guests went home and we were left to ourselves. My sisters and I went to the bedroom we were to share; as we crawledsintosour beds, our parents came to each of us, tucking us in and saying goodnight.“Te amo,”they whispered to my new sisters in Spanish,“I love you.”
From the beginning these newcomers were like my own flesh and blood; we played and bickered and learned just as if we had always been sisters. From the beginning we all were my parents' daughters equally, as they supervised and scolded and encouraged us.
Life seemed great. Beneath the surface, however, my parents were struggling with their own marital problems. As we girls were approaching our teen years, my parents uttered the fateful words,“We're getting a divorce.”
My sisters had been hurt before. They had been dealt a great wound when their birth mother abandoned them, and none of us understood the depth of their inner turmoil. It was a pain that now resurfaced, as the emotions from that abandonment years earlier overwhelmed them.
We all struggled during this time. My father remarried and strove to provide some sort of stability for us through this new family: another mother, brother and sister. But the bonds between my parents and sisters continued to disintegrate. By the time I left for college, my family was in profound disarray.
During my college years, my outlook on life evolved in significant ways. This personal transformation led my parents and sisters to reevaluate their own lives and make changes that ultimately brought us together as a family. My mother and father have again become great sources of encouragement for us three sisters. They have succeeded in providing our lives with a foundation of stable love. One of my sisters has recently married,and family gatherings are now occasions of happiness and renewal.
Chinese friends sometimes ask me why I am in China, working at a low salary when I could be prospering in America. It is the experiences I went through while growing up that have made me who I am today. I am on the staff of CBN, a humanitarian organization in Beijing that seeks to help people in distress. Among our many projects, we often work with orphans.
My colleagues and I have sent a number of orphans to the US and Canada for free operations. One is a little girl named Xiao Chu who was born with a weak heart. She was abandoned as a baby. By age two she was already experiencing shortness of breath and loss of appetite. Her future looked grim. Last January we flew her to Canada for surgery, along with two other orphans with heart problems. The operations were successful, and all three children have since returned.
We are also working in some of Beijing's orphanages and schools for the mentally handicapped. Every week we visit various schools, playing games with the children and teaching them English. Not long ago we organized a conference with orphan expert Sherrie Eldridge to define the special challenges that orphans face. The conference was of benefit to orphanage directors and adoptive parents alike.
Our charitable organization also provides funds for cleft-lip and palate operations for the poor. One young woman in Gansu, for instance, had spent her life watching the world go by from the refuge of her room, afraid to go outside because of her cleft lip. Now she can leave her house and be a participant in life rather than a spectator.
In western Gansu we have been building cisterns in villages that are short of water. In a region with so little rainfall, some people have to walk great distances to fetch water for their daily needs. Contributions from individuals and companies have enabled us to build over 500 cisterns, each big enough to supply a family of seven for an entire year.
So this is how I have chosen to lead my life.
At one orphanage I visited this past July, I came face to face with two little girls aged 3 and 6. They looked up at me with their cautious brown eyes, and I felt I was once again lookingsintosthe eyes of my sisters fifteen years ago.I realized how much adoption had meant to each of us in my family. Fifteen years ago, my sisters too were sitting in an orphanage, with no one to call their parents and no place to call their home. Now they have both in the unconditional love of my family.
Just Listen To Your Heart
How often do you have a really strong gut instinct and it proves to be wrong? How often do you override that instinct and then kick yourself later on? My guess would be that if you're anything like the people that come to me for life coaching the answers are hardly ever and always.
Everybody knows intuitively that they have solid instincts. I have never met anybody either professionally or socially that says. "My gut feeling is terrible, I'm always getting in a mess by listening to myself, what can I do about it?" How weird is that? It seems to me it's a universal truth.
Although at this point I have to confess I only know a small percentage of people when we look at it from a global perspective. In fact, we are probably talking about 0.000005% of the population; so statistically speaking it's about as accurate as a blind baseball pitcher with Meniere's disease.
Having said that, I'm prepared to bet that you don't disagree with me. In fact, I'll go as far to say that if you can honestly say you believe your gut instinct lets you down on a regular basis, drop me an e-mail and I'll mail you a copy of my book with instructions on how to operate it, because you're going to need them.
The conscious human mind can only deal with 7+ or –2 pieces of information at once. Until you read this sentence you almost certainly aren't aware of your left foot. But hey, presto, now you are! Way to go on shifting your awareness like a Zen Master. If you lost your foot in a freak fairground accident last week I apologize for my lack of tact. I hope you can forgive me and please accept my best wishes for a speedy recovery hoppy.
The fact is, you have to constantly delete information from your conscious mind, otherwise you'd go into sensory overload. Try and do it now if you have any doubt. Place your awareness in your right hand, now your left hand too. Now move to your feet and remain aware of your hands. Easy? Maybe, but that's still only 4, so try thinking about what your lower back feels like without letting your attention move from your hands. By now you will be starting to struggle, but if you're not keep going and you soon will be.
Think of your conscious mind as being like the RAM on your computer. It does lots of good stuff and it's nice to have around and all that, but hey c'mon, it's no hard drive! That is like the difference between your conscious and unconscious mind.
Your unconscious mind can do lots of stuff easily without you ever having to intervene. I presume your heart is beating, your food is being digested, and you do not have to remember to blink your eyes or maintain your blood pressure, right? If not you maybe dead, so stop reading now and call for an ambulance and/or an undertaker.
What happens when you get a strong gut feeling is that your unconscious mind is trying to tell you what it thinks in the only way it knows how, with feelings. It can't talk to you because it's unconscious, hence the rather obvious name. It has done lots of calculations, looked at all the permutations, given it serious consideration and is now shouting “Whoa there big fella, it aint a great idea to poke that skunk with a stick” Of course the 'shout' can manifest itself in any number of ways. You may get sweaty palms, a nauseous feeling or just a sense of something not being quite right.
So what do most people do when they get a strong gut feeling?
That's right, they override it. Because it doesn't make logical sense on the surface, skunk poking notwithstanding, it tends to get dismissed. A feeling is just that, a feeling, it can be hard to put into words. When we can't explain logically why we think something is a bad or even for that matter a good idea, we can tend to either ignore it completely or use faulty logic to dismiss it out of hand.
Some people (kinesthetics) find to very easy to tune into their feelings, but truly kinesthetic people account for less than 15% of the population. If you're not one of the lucky few then you'll have to pay extra special attention. Tune in to your body more often and start to recognize the patterns an when it's trying to tell you something.
If your unconscious is saying don't take that job, go on that date, poke that skunk - take heed. It knows what it's talking about and it has your best interests at heart. The alternative it to disregard it as some weird nebulous feeling that's come out of nowhere and almost certainly live to regret it.
My Irreplaceable Treasure
My Irreplaceable Treasure
Recently I gave a dinner party for some close friends. To add a touch of elegance to the evening, I brought out the good stuff--my white Royal Crown Derby china with the fine blue-and-gold border. When we were seated, one of the guests noticed the beat-up gravy boat I'd placed among the newer, better dinnerware. "Is it an heirloom ?" she asked tactfully.
I admit the piece does look rather conspicuous. For one thing, it matches nothing else. It's also old and chipped. But that little gravy boat is much more than an heirloom to me. It is the one thing in this world I will never part with.
The story begins more than 50 years ago, when I was seven years old and we lived in a big house along the Ohio River in New Richmond, Ohio. All that separated the house from the river was the street and our wide front lawn. In anticipation of high water, the ground floor had been built seven feet above grade.
Late in December the heavy rains came, and the river climbed to the tops of its banks. When the water began to rise in a serious way, my parents made plans in case the river should invade our house. My mother decided she would pack our books and her fine china in a small den off the master bedroom.
The china was not nearly as good as it was old. Each piece had a gold rim and a band of roses. But the service had been her mother's and was precious to her. As she packed the china with great care, she said to me, "You must treasure the things that people you love have cherished. It keeps you in touch with them."
I didn't understand, since I'd never owned anything I cared all that much about. Still, planning for disaster held considerable fascination for me.
The plan was to move upstairs if the river reached the seventh of the steps that led to the front porch. We would keep a rowboat downstairs so we could get from room to room. The one thing we would not do was leave the house. My father, the town's only doctor, had to be where sick people could find him.
I checked on the river's rise several times a day and lived in a state of hopeful alarm that the water would climb all the way up to the house. It did not disappoint. The muddy water rose higher until, at last, the critical seventh step was reached.
We worked for days carrying things upstairs, until, late one afternoon, the water edged over the threshold and rushed into the house. I watched, amazed at how rapidly it rose.
After the water got about a foot deep inside the house, it was hard to sleep at night. The sound of the river moving about downstairs was frightening. Debris had broken windows, so every once in a while some floating battering ram--a log or perhaps a table--would bang into the walls and make a sound like a distant drum.
Every day I sat on the landing and watched the river rise. Mother cooked simple meals in a spare bedroom she had turned into a makeshift kitchen. She was worried, I could tell, about what would happen to us. Father came and went in a small fishing boat. He was concerned about his patients and possible outbreaks of dysentery, pneumonia or typhoid .
Before long, the Red Cross began to pitch tents on high ground north of town. "We are staying right here," my father said.
As the water continued to rise, I kept busy rowing through the house and looking at the furniture that had been too big to move upstairs. I liked to row around the great cozy couch, now almost submerged, and pretend it was an island in a lake.
One night very late I was awakened by a tearing noise, like timbers creaking. Then there was the rumbling sound of heavy things falling. I jumped out of bed and ran into the hallway. My parents were standing in the doorway to the den, where we had stored the books and my mother's beloved china.
The floor of the den had fallen through, and all the treasures we had tried to save were now on the first floor, under the stealthily rising river. My father lit our camp light, and we went to the landing to look. We could see nothing except the books bobbing like little rafts on the water.
Mother had been courageous, it seemed to me, through the ordeal of the flood. She was steady and calm, and kept things going in good order. But that night she sat on the top of the stairs with her head on her crossed arms and cried. I had never seen her like that, and there was a sound in her weeping that made me afraid. I wanted to help her, but I couldn't think of what I could possibly do. I just knew I had to figure out something.
The next morning, after breakfast, I did a geography lesson and then Mother said I could go downstairs and play in the boat. I rowed once around the down-stairs, avoiding the mess of timbers in the hall where the terrible accident had occurred. The books had begun to sink. I stared down into the dark water and could see nothing. It was right then that I got the idea.
I made a hook from a wire coathanger and carefully fastened it to a weighted line. Then I let it sink and began to drag it slowly back and forth. I spent the next hour or so moving the boat and dragging my line--hoping to find pieces of my mother's lost treasure. But time after time the line came up empty.
As the water rose day after day, I continued trying to recover some remnant of my mother's broken china. Soon, however, the water inside had risen to the stairway landing. On the day water covered the gutters outside, my father decided we would have to seek shelter in the tents on the hill. A powerboat was to pick us up that afternoon. We would leave by the porch roof.
I spent the morning hurriedly securing things in my room. Then I got into my rowboat for the last time. I dragged my line through the water. Nothing. After some time I heard my parents calling, so I headed back toward the stairway. Just as I made the last turn, I snagged something.
Holding my breath, I slowly raised my catch to the surface. As the dark water drained from it, I could make out the bright roses and gold leaf design. It seemed dazzling to me. I had found the gravy boat from my mother's china service. My line had caught on a small chip in the lip.
My father called down to me again. "This is serious business," he said. "Let's go." So I stowed the treasure in my jacket and rowed as fast as I could to the stair landing.
The powerboat picked us up and headed to higher ground. It began to rain, and for the first time I was really afraid. The water might rise forever, might cover the whole valley, the trees, even the hills.
By the time we were settled in a Red Cross tent, we were worn out. Father had gone off to care for sick people, and Mother sat on my cot with her arm around my shoulder. She smiled at me, if you can call it that. Then I reached under my pillow and took out the gravy boat.
She looked at it, then at me. Then she took it in her hands and held it for a long time. She was very quiet, just sitting, gazing at the gravy boat. She seemed both close to me and also very far away, as though she was remembering. I don't know what she was thinking, but she pulled me into her arms and held me tight.
We lived in the tent for weeks, cold and often hungry. As the flood crested, an oil slick caught fire and burned our house down to the waterline. We never went back. Instead, we moved to a house near Cincinnati, far from the river.
By Easter we were settled in, and we celebrated that special Sunday with a feast. While Dad carved the lamb, Mother went into the kitchen and returned with the gravy boat. She held my gift for a moment as though it was something unspeakably precious. Then, smiling at me, she placed it gently on the table. I said to myself right then that nothing would ever happen to that gravy boat as long as I lived.
And nothing ever has. Now I use the gravy boat just as she had, taking it carefully from the shelf and filling it just as she did with dark, rich turkey gravy for family dinners and other special occasions. When guests ask about the curious old dish, I sometimes tell the story of how I fished it from the river in our house.
But beyond the events of the flood, the gravy boat is a treasure that connects me to the people and the places of my past. Mother tried to explain, and now I understand. It is not the object so much as the connection that I cherish. That little porcelain boat, chipped and worn with age, keeps me in touch--just as she said it would--with her life, her joy and her love.
Recently I gave a dinner party for some close friends. To add a touch of elegance to the evening, I brought out the good stuff--my white Royal Crown Derby china with the fine blue-and-gold border. When we were seated, one of the guests noticed the beat-up gravy boat I'd placed among the newer, better dinnerware. "Is it an heirloom ?" she asked tactfully.
I admit the piece does look rather conspicuous. For one thing, it matches nothing else. It's also old and chipped. But that little gravy boat is much more than an heirloom to me. It is the one thing in this world I will never part with.
The story begins more than 50 years ago, when I was seven years old and we lived in a big house along the Ohio River in New Richmond, Ohio. All that separated the house from the river was the street and our wide front lawn. In anticipation of high water, the ground floor had been built seven feet above grade.
Late in December the heavy rains came, and the river climbed to the tops of its banks. When the water began to rise in a serious way, my parents made plans in case the river should invade our house. My mother decided she would pack our books and her fine china in a small den off the master bedroom.
The china was not nearly as good as it was old. Each piece had a gold rim and a band of roses. But the service had been her mother's and was precious to her. As she packed the china with great care, she said to me, "You must treasure the things that people you love have cherished. It keeps you in touch with them."
I didn't understand, since I'd never owned anything I cared all that much about. Still, planning for disaster held considerable fascination for me.
The plan was to move upstairs if the river reached the seventh of the steps that led to the front porch. We would keep a rowboat downstairs so we could get from room to room. The one thing we would not do was leave the house. My father, the town's only doctor, had to be where sick people could find him.
I checked on the river's rise several times a day and lived in a state of hopeful alarm that the water would climb all the way up to the house. It did not disappoint. The muddy water rose higher until, at last, the critical seventh step was reached.
We worked for days carrying things upstairs, until, late one afternoon, the water edged over the threshold and rushed into the house. I watched, amazed at how rapidly it rose.
After the water got about a foot deep inside the house, it was hard to sleep at night. The sound of the river moving about downstairs was frightening. Debris had broken windows, so every once in a while some floating battering ram--a log or perhaps a table--would bang into the walls and make a sound like a distant drum.
Every day I sat on the landing and watched the river rise. Mother cooked simple meals in a spare bedroom she had turned into a makeshift kitchen. She was worried, I could tell, about what would happen to us. Father came and went in a small fishing boat. He was concerned about his patients and possible outbreaks of dysentery, pneumonia or typhoid .
Before long, the Red Cross began to pitch tents on high ground north of town. "We are staying right here," my father said.
As the water continued to rise, I kept busy rowing through the house and looking at the furniture that had been too big to move upstairs. I liked to row around the great cozy couch, now almost submerged, and pretend it was an island in a lake.
One night very late I was awakened by a tearing noise, like timbers creaking. Then there was the rumbling sound of heavy things falling. I jumped out of bed and ran into the hallway. My parents were standing in the doorway to the den, where we had stored the books and my mother's beloved china.
The floor of the den had fallen through, and all the treasures we had tried to save were now on the first floor, under the stealthily rising river. My father lit our camp light, and we went to the landing to look. We could see nothing except the books bobbing like little rafts on the water.
Mother had been courageous, it seemed to me, through the ordeal of the flood. She was steady and calm, and kept things going in good order. But that night she sat on the top of the stairs with her head on her crossed arms and cried. I had never seen her like that, and there was a sound in her weeping that made me afraid. I wanted to help her, but I couldn't think of what I could possibly do. I just knew I had to figure out something.
The next morning, after breakfast, I did a geography lesson and then Mother said I could go downstairs and play in the boat. I rowed once around the down-stairs, avoiding the mess of timbers in the hall where the terrible accident had occurred. The books had begun to sink. I stared down into the dark water and could see nothing. It was right then that I got the idea.
I made a hook from a wire coathanger and carefully fastened it to a weighted line. Then I let it sink and began to drag it slowly back and forth. I spent the next hour or so moving the boat and dragging my line--hoping to find pieces of my mother's lost treasure. But time after time the line came up empty.
As the water rose day after day, I continued trying to recover some remnant of my mother's broken china. Soon, however, the water inside had risen to the stairway landing. On the day water covered the gutters outside, my father decided we would have to seek shelter in the tents on the hill. A powerboat was to pick us up that afternoon. We would leave by the porch roof.
I spent the morning hurriedly securing things in my room. Then I got into my rowboat for the last time. I dragged my line through the water. Nothing. After some time I heard my parents calling, so I headed back toward the stairway. Just as I made the last turn, I snagged something.
Holding my breath, I slowly raised my catch to the surface. As the dark water drained from it, I could make out the bright roses and gold leaf design. It seemed dazzling to me. I had found the gravy boat from my mother's china service. My line had caught on a small chip in the lip.
My father called down to me again. "This is serious business," he said. "Let's go." So I stowed the treasure in my jacket and rowed as fast as I could to the stair landing.
The powerboat picked us up and headed to higher ground. It began to rain, and for the first time I was really afraid. The water might rise forever, might cover the whole valley, the trees, even the hills.
By the time we were settled in a Red Cross tent, we were worn out. Father had gone off to care for sick people, and Mother sat on my cot with her arm around my shoulder. She smiled at me, if you can call it that. Then I reached under my pillow and took out the gravy boat.
She looked at it, then at me. Then she took it in her hands and held it for a long time. She was very quiet, just sitting, gazing at the gravy boat. She seemed both close to me and also very far away, as though she was remembering. I don't know what she was thinking, but she pulled me into her arms and held me tight.
We lived in the tent for weeks, cold and often hungry. As the flood crested, an oil slick caught fire and burned our house down to the waterline. We never went back. Instead, we moved to a house near Cincinnati, far from the river.
By Easter we were settled in, and we celebrated that special Sunday with a feast. While Dad carved the lamb, Mother went into the kitchen and returned with the gravy boat. She held my gift for a moment as though it was something unspeakably precious. Then, smiling at me, she placed it gently on the table. I said to myself right then that nothing would ever happen to that gravy boat as long as I lived.
And nothing ever has. Now I use the gravy boat just as she had, taking it carefully from the shelf and filling it just as she did with dark, rich turkey gravy for family dinners and other special occasions. When guests ask about the curious old dish, I sometimes tell the story of how I fished it from the river in our house.
But beyond the events of the flood, the gravy boat is a treasure that connects me to the people and the places of my past. Mother tried to explain, and now I understand. It is not the object so much as the connection that I cherish. That little porcelain boat, chipped and worn with age, keeps me in touch--just as she said it would--with her life, her joy and her love.
Celebration of Life
Celebration of Life
On my way home from coaching basketball yesterday, I was listening to WGN, my favorite talk radio station out of Chicago. I could tell right away that there was something wrong by the somber mood of the speaker.
There had been a plane crash. Two small planes collided into each other over a northern suburb of Chicago. What made the story hit close to home was that Bob Collins, the morning show man for WGN, was the pilot of one of the planes and had been killed. I'm sure that many readers have tuned in "Uncle Bobby" on their car radios in the Midwest. Later that night, as I made my forty minute drive to my third shift job, I listened as the station reminisced and paid tribute to a man who was loved by many.
They told story after story, describing him as the ultimate friend and a man who had lived life to the fullest. Genuine love and affection poured in from all over the country. The more I listened to how this man had influenced those around him, the more discouraged I became.
Why you ask?
I was discouraged because I wanted to know why we as a culture wait until somebody has passed away before we tell them how much we love them. Why do we wait until someone's ears can't hear before we let them know how much they mean to us? Why do we wait until it is too late before we recall the good qualities of a person? Why do we build someone up after they have gone into eternity? What good does it do then? We share memory after memory, as we laugh, cry, and think back about what was positive in a person's life. Yes, it does help us cope with the grief of losing someone who was special to us, and, yes, it does bring those who are coping closer together. Unfortunately, as we lovingly remember this person, our words fall short of the ears that most needed to hear them.
Just once I would like to see a celebration of life instead of a gathering of death. A celebration where stories are told, eyes mist over, laughter rings out, and as the speaker concludes his or her loving tribute, the person they are honoring rises from their chair and gives them the biggest bear hug! Wouldn't that be something! The special people get to hear the stories and come to the realization that they have made a difference on this earth, and all this is done well before they leave their earthly bodies and go into eternity. When the inevitable funerals finally come, we can say good-bye with the knowledge that they knew exactly how people felt about them while they were here on earth.
I now have a stronger resolve to tell those around me how much they mean to me. I am going to let my wife know just how loved and appreciated she is, not only by my words, but also by my actions, I am going to play Batman with my four-year-old more often, and in the middle of our romping , I am going to grab him, hug him tightly, and tell him how thankful I am that he is my son. I am going to sneak into my sleeping toddler's bedroom, place my lips on his chubby cheek, and thank God for the bundle of joy he has brought into my life. Each day I will make a point to tell both of my boys how much I love them, whether they are four or eighteen! From there, I am going to let family and friends know the tremendous impact they have had on my life. Finally, I am going to let the high school players I coach know that I look forward to each and every minute that I get to spend with them in the gym.
Do you love someone? Then tell them! Has someone been an influence in your life? Then give them a call! Has someone made a difference in your life? Then write them a letter or send them an e-mail! Don't let another day go by without letting that person know. There is something special about a written letter that expresses feelings of love towards another. I don't know about you, but I have letters and cards from people that I have saved for years, and from time to time, I get them out and re-read them.
They can turn a depressing day into one where I realize just how blessed and lucky I am.
Life is too short to leave kind words unsaid. The words you say, or the letter you write, might just make all the difference in the world.
On my way home from coaching basketball yesterday, I was listening to WGN, my favorite talk radio station out of Chicago. I could tell right away that there was something wrong by the somber mood of the speaker.
There had been a plane crash. Two small planes collided into each other over a northern suburb of Chicago. What made the story hit close to home was that Bob Collins, the morning show man for WGN, was the pilot of one of the planes and had been killed. I'm sure that many readers have tuned in "Uncle Bobby" on their car radios in the Midwest. Later that night, as I made my forty minute drive to my third shift job, I listened as the station reminisced and paid tribute to a man who was loved by many.
They told story after story, describing him as the ultimate friend and a man who had lived life to the fullest. Genuine love and affection poured in from all over the country. The more I listened to how this man had influenced those around him, the more discouraged I became.
Why you ask?
I was discouraged because I wanted to know why we as a culture wait until somebody has passed away before we tell them how much we love them. Why do we wait until someone's ears can't hear before we let them know how much they mean to us? Why do we wait until it is too late before we recall the good qualities of a person? Why do we build someone up after they have gone into eternity? What good does it do then? We share memory after memory, as we laugh, cry, and think back about what was positive in a person's life. Yes, it does help us cope with the grief of losing someone who was special to us, and, yes, it does bring those who are coping closer together. Unfortunately, as we lovingly remember this person, our words fall short of the ears that most needed to hear them.
Just once I would like to see a celebration of life instead of a gathering of death. A celebration where stories are told, eyes mist over, laughter rings out, and as the speaker concludes his or her loving tribute, the person they are honoring rises from their chair and gives them the biggest bear hug! Wouldn't that be something! The special people get to hear the stories and come to the realization that they have made a difference on this earth, and all this is done well before they leave their earthly bodies and go into eternity. When the inevitable funerals finally come, we can say good-bye with the knowledge that they knew exactly how people felt about them while they were here on earth.
I now have a stronger resolve to tell those around me how much they mean to me. I am going to let my wife know just how loved and appreciated she is, not only by my words, but also by my actions, I am going to play Batman with my four-year-old more often, and in the middle of our romping , I am going to grab him, hug him tightly, and tell him how thankful I am that he is my son. I am going to sneak into my sleeping toddler's bedroom, place my lips on his chubby cheek, and thank God for the bundle of joy he has brought into my life. Each day I will make a point to tell both of my boys how much I love them, whether they are four or eighteen! From there, I am going to let family and friends know the tremendous impact they have had on my life. Finally, I am going to let the high school players I coach know that I look forward to each and every minute that I get to spend with them in the gym.
Do you love someone? Then tell them! Has someone been an influence in your life? Then give them a call! Has someone made a difference in your life? Then write them a letter or send them an e-mail! Don't let another day go by without letting that person know. There is something special about a written letter that expresses feelings of love towards another. I don't know about you, but I have letters and cards from people that I have saved for years, and from time to time, I get them out and re-read them.
They can turn a depressing day into one where I realize just how blessed and lucky I am.
Life is too short to leave kind words unsaid. The words you say, or the letter you write, might just make all the difference in the world.
I will live this day
I will live this day
I will live this day as if it is my last.
And what shall I do with this last precious day which remains in my keeping? First, I will seal up its container of life so that not one drop spills itself upon the sand. I will waste not a moment mourning yesterday's misfortunes, yesterday's defeats, yesterday's aches of the heart, for why should I throw good after bad?
Can sand flow upward in the hour glass? Will the sun rise where it sets and set where it rises? Can I relive the errors of yesterday and right them? Can I call back yesterday's wounds and make them whole? Can I become younger than yesterday? Can I take back the evil that was spoken, the blows that were struck, the pain that was caused? No. Yesterday is buried forever and I will think of it no more.
I will live this day as if it is my last.
And what then shall I do? Forgetting yesterday neither will I think of tomorrow. Why should I throw note after maybe? Can tomorrow's sand flow through the glass before today's? Will the sun rise twice this morning? Can I perform tomorrow's deeds while standing in today's path? Can I place tomorrow's gold in today's purse? Can tomorrow's child be born today? Can tomorrow's death cast its shadow backward and darken today's joy? Should I concern myself over events which l may never witness? Should I torment myself with problems that may never come to pass? No! Tomorrow lies buried with yesterday, and I will think of it no more.
I will live this day as if it is my last.
This day is all I have and these hours are now my eternity . I greet this sunrise with cries of joy as a prisoner who is reprieved from death. I lift mine arms with thanks for this priceless gift of a new day. So too, I will beat upon my heart with gratitude as I consider all who greeted yesterday's sunrise who are no longer with the living today. I am indeed a fortunate man and today's hours are but a bonus, undeserved. Why have I been allowed to live this extra day when others, far better than I, have departed? Is it that they have accomplished their purpose while mine is yet to be achieved? Is this another opportunity for me to become the man I know I can be? Is there a purpose in nature? Is this my day to excel ?
I will live this day as if it is my last. I have but one life and life is naught but a measurement of time. When I waste one I destroy the other. If I waste today I destroy the last page of my life. Therefore, each hour of this day will I cherish for it can never return. It cannot be banked today to be withdrawn on the morrow, for who can trap the wind? Each minute of this day will I grasp with both hands and fondle with love for its value is beyond price. What dying man can purchase another breath though he willingly give all his gold? What price dare I place on the hours ahead? I will make them priceless!
I will live this day as if it is my last. I will avoid with fury the killers of time. Procrastination I will destroy with action; doubt I will bury under faith; fear I will dismember with confidence. Where there are idle mouths I will listen not; where there are idle hands I will linger not; where there are idle bodies I will visit not. Henceforth I know that to court idleness is to steal food, clothing, and warmth from those I love. I am not a thief. I am a man of love and today is my last chance to prove my love and my greatness.
I will live this day as if it is my last.
The duties of today I shall fulfill today. Today I shall fondle my children while they are young; tomorrow they will be gone, and so will I. Today I shall embrace my woman with sweet kisses; tomorrow she will be gone, and so will I. Today I shall lift up a friend in need; tomorrow he will no longer cry for help, nor will I hear his cries. Today I shall give myself in sacrifice and work; tomorrow I will have nothing to give, and there will be none to receive.
I will live this day as if it is my last.
And if it is my last, it will be my greatest monument. This day I will make the best day of my life. This day I will drink every minute to its full. I will savor its taste and give thanks. I will make the every hour count and each minute I will trade only for something of value. I will labor harder than ever before and push my muscles until they cry for relief, and then I will continue. I will make more calls than ever before. I will sell more goods than ever before. I will earn more gold than ever before. Each minute of today will be more fruitful than hours of yesterday. My last must be my best. I will live this day as if it is my last. And if it is not, I shall fall to my knees and give thanks.
I will live this day as if it is my last.
And what shall I do with this last precious day which remains in my keeping? First, I will seal up its container of life so that not one drop spills itself upon the sand. I will waste not a moment mourning yesterday's misfortunes, yesterday's defeats, yesterday's aches of the heart, for why should I throw good after bad?
Can sand flow upward in the hour glass? Will the sun rise where it sets and set where it rises? Can I relive the errors of yesterday and right them? Can I call back yesterday's wounds and make them whole? Can I become younger than yesterday? Can I take back the evil that was spoken, the blows that were struck, the pain that was caused? No. Yesterday is buried forever and I will think of it no more.
I will live this day as if it is my last.
And what then shall I do? Forgetting yesterday neither will I think of tomorrow. Why should I throw note after maybe? Can tomorrow's sand flow through the glass before today's? Will the sun rise twice this morning? Can I perform tomorrow's deeds while standing in today's path? Can I place tomorrow's gold in today's purse? Can tomorrow's child be born today? Can tomorrow's death cast its shadow backward and darken today's joy? Should I concern myself over events which l may never witness? Should I torment myself with problems that may never come to pass? No! Tomorrow lies buried with yesterday, and I will think of it no more.
I will live this day as if it is my last.
This day is all I have and these hours are now my eternity . I greet this sunrise with cries of joy as a prisoner who is reprieved from death. I lift mine arms with thanks for this priceless gift of a new day. So too, I will beat upon my heart with gratitude as I consider all who greeted yesterday's sunrise who are no longer with the living today. I am indeed a fortunate man and today's hours are but a bonus, undeserved. Why have I been allowed to live this extra day when others, far better than I, have departed? Is it that they have accomplished their purpose while mine is yet to be achieved? Is this another opportunity for me to become the man I know I can be? Is there a purpose in nature? Is this my day to excel ?
I will live this day as if it is my last. I have but one life and life is naught but a measurement of time. When I waste one I destroy the other. If I waste today I destroy the last page of my life. Therefore, each hour of this day will I cherish for it can never return. It cannot be banked today to be withdrawn on the morrow, for who can trap the wind? Each minute of this day will I grasp with both hands and fondle with love for its value is beyond price. What dying man can purchase another breath though he willingly give all his gold? What price dare I place on the hours ahead? I will make them priceless!
I will live this day as if it is my last. I will avoid with fury the killers of time. Procrastination I will destroy with action; doubt I will bury under faith; fear I will dismember with confidence. Where there are idle mouths I will listen not; where there are idle hands I will linger not; where there are idle bodies I will visit not. Henceforth I know that to court idleness is to steal food, clothing, and warmth from those I love. I am not a thief. I am a man of love and today is my last chance to prove my love and my greatness.
I will live this day as if it is my last.
The duties of today I shall fulfill today. Today I shall fondle my children while they are young; tomorrow they will be gone, and so will I. Today I shall embrace my woman with sweet kisses; tomorrow she will be gone, and so will I. Today I shall lift up a friend in need; tomorrow he will no longer cry for help, nor will I hear his cries. Today I shall give myself in sacrifice and work; tomorrow I will have nothing to give, and there will be none to receive.
I will live this day as if it is my last.
And if it is my last, it will be my greatest monument. This day I will make the best day of my life. This day I will drink every minute to its full. I will savor its taste and give thanks. I will make the every hour count and each minute I will trade only for something of value. I will labor harder than ever before and push my muscles until they cry for relief, and then I will continue. I will make more calls than ever before. I will sell more goods than ever before. I will earn more gold than ever before. Each minute of today will be more fruitful than hours of yesterday. My last must be my best. I will live this day as if it is my last. And if it is not, I shall fall to my knees and give thanks.
2012年6月6日星期三
CDC denies existence of zombies Despite Cannibal Incidents
The horrific face-eating arrest in Miami and several other seemingly subhuman acts has many people wondering what's behind this flesh-munching wave of terror.
Over the years the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention has released a couple of tongue-in-cheek "zombie warnings," which really are just disaster-preparedness stunts. But on Thursday, the agency made it official: Zombies don't exist.
"CDC does not know of a virus or condition that would reanimate the dead (or one that would present zombie-like symptoms)," wrote agency spokesman David Daigle in an email to The Huffington Post.
Nevertheless, recent incidents in which humans reportedly ate human flesh have the Internet in a firestorm, with "zombie apocalypse" being Google's third most popular search term by Friday morning.
The zombie craze seemed to start with an attack in Miami on Saturday, when Rudy Eugene, 31, was killed by cops while in the process of eating almost the entirety of a homeless man's face off. The victim, Ronald Poppo, miraculously survived, but doctors are having a hard time figuring out how to put his face back together.
Then, on Tuesday, 21-year-old Alexander Kinyua of Maryland allegedly admitted to dismembering his roommate and then eating his heart and brain.
Cops in Canada are also searching for a low-budget porn actor who allegedly killed a young man with an ice pick, dismembered the body and then raped and ate flesh from the corpse. Luka Rocco Magnotta is being hunted after he allegedly mailed some of the body parts to Ottawa. He's also accused of killing cats on video and posting the footage online.
Gawker fingered a "mysterious rash" breakout at a high school in Hollywood and other parts of Florida -- which hazmat and disease control teams still can't explain -- as further proof that zombies are taking over.
Zombie-like characteristics have been confirmed in the animal kingdom, just not in humans. A newfound fungus in a Brazilian rain forest -- called Ophiocordyceps camponoti-balzani -- is known to infect an ant, take over its brain so as to move the body to a good location for growth, and then kill the insect.
Yet Daigle dismissed "fictional viruses" like Ataxic Neurodegenrative Satiety Deficiency Syndrome, noting that other triggers have been alleged to cause zombie-like symptoms.
"Films have included radiation as well as mutations of existing conditions such as prions, mad-cow disease, measles, and rabies," he said.
Over the years the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention has released a couple of tongue-in-cheek "zombie warnings," which really are just disaster-preparedness stunts. But on Thursday, the agency made it official: Zombies don't exist.
"CDC does not know of a virus or condition that would reanimate the dead (or one that would present zombie-like symptoms)," wrote agency spokesman David Daigle in an email to The Huffington Post.
Nevertheless, recent incidents in which humans reportedly ate human flesh have the Internet in a firestorm, with "zombie apocalypse" being Google's third most popular search term by Friday morning.
The zombie craze seemed to start with an attack in Miami on Saturday, when Rudy Eugene, 31, was killed by cops while in the process of eating almost the entirety of a homeless man's face off. The victim, Ronald Poppo, miraculously survived, but doctors are having a hard time figuring out how to put his face back together.
Then, on Tuesday, 21-year-old Alexander Kinyua of Maryland allegedly admitted to dismembering his roommate and then eating his heart and brain.
Cops in Canada are also searching for a low-budget porn actor who allegedly killed a young man with an ice pick, dismembered the body and then raped and ate flesh from the corpse. Luka Rocco Magnotta is being hunted after he allegedly mailed some of the body parts to Ottawa. He's also accused of killing cats on video and posting the footage online.
Gawker fingered a "mysterious rash" breakout at a high school in Hollywood and other parts of Florida -- which hazmat and disease control teams still can't explain -- as further proof that zombies are taking over.
Zombie-like characteristics have been confirmed in the animal kingdom, just not in humans. A newfound fungus in a Brazilian rain forest -- called Ophiocordyceps camponoti-balzani -- is known to infect an ant, take over its brain so as to move the body to a good location for growth, and then kill the insect.
Yet Daigle dismissed "fictional viruses" like Ataxic Neurodegenrative Satiety Deficiency Syndrome, noting that other triggers have been alleged to cause zombie-like symptoms.
"Films have included radiation as well as mutations of existing conditions such as prions, mad-cow disease, measles, and rabies," he said.
Tears of Butterfly
You're a petal, speckled with sigh and sorrow
You blossom early and wither at an late time
You're so busy kissing sweet scent that for the blank have notime to explain
You've taken away a cut of injury on the twigs while leaving flowers with tears in a string
While you're dancing valley fails to keep you
You belong to a dream, a dream of psychedelic of flying time
After heavy grief has been stained by tears, a pair of gentlehands picks up you
But a dream is so fragile that in tears I wake up
I am mired in a season of sad adieu
Holding a cocoon of the pre-life and watching with strained eyes over the water passing by
In the elegant tune of "Lovers of Butterfly", you're gracefully dancing
Weeds overgrow at the tower not far away
You blossom early and wither at an late time
You're so busy kissing sweet scent that for the blank have notime to explain
You've taken away a cut of injury on the twigs while leaving flowers with tears in a string
While you're dancing valley fails to keep you
You belong to a dream, a dream of psychedelic of flying time
After heavy grief has been stained by tears, a pair of gentlehands picks up you
But a dream is so fragile that in tears I wake up
I am mired in a season of sad adieu
Holding a cocoon of the pre-life and watching with strained eyes over the water passing by
In the elegant tune of "Lovers of Butterfly", you're gracefully dancing
Weeds overgrow at the tower not far away
Jobs Everyone Should Try Once in their Life
Nobody in this planet has the perfect job. Including you.
While this article doesn't list the most perfect job for you, it surely brings forth some of the most basic of jobs that might give you some life lessons and, hopefully, make you a better person and employee.
Here are the jobs that everyone, including you, should try at least once in their lives.
Waiter
It is one of the most basic of jobs and, in fact, quite a number of people (like Lady Gaga and Jen Aniston) have actually done this at some point of their lives. As you wait on tables, you learn qualities like patience, humility and subservience. The best part is that you earn more in tips that would make your salary look tiny.
Baby sitter
It might be justified if you wouldn't want to associate yourself with what you consider a girl's job. However, this job deserves at least one go because it might help you in your later life, apart from helping you make some extra bucks. Before marriage, men usually find kids extremely annoying and even repulsive to a great extent. When you opt for baby-sitting as a job, you learn how to deal with the very babies that made you cringe before. This could, in fact, be the first step you could take towards fatherhood and would be a great thing to do before you plan to start your own family. Even Anne Hathaway was a baby sitter before she hit it big time in Hollywood (if that's any consolation).
Salesman
For the thrill of convincing someone to pay you money for something they don't need. The more you succeed in it, the more your feeling of awesomeness. Learning the tricks of the selling trade not only adds to your smartness but also to your inherent ability to manipulate others. Also, there certainly is some charm to a job that was Jerry Seinfield's first.
Customer Service Representative
This particular job is more like stepping into somebody else's shoes. To be more precise, all those customer care reps you have yelled your lungs out at, at some point of your life. You'll realize that being a customer service executive is, indeed, a job much tougher and challenging than any other desk bound job that you might opt for. Hopefully, after this stint, you'll stop holding the customer care rep. responsible for every fault of his employers.
Driver/ Chauffeur
You're a man and there's no thrill better than getting behind some nasty wheels. While driving a taxi might not exactly be as thrilling, getting yourself a job as a chauffeur of high profile businessman or a celebrity might just be the start of a fantastic experience. While you whisk them around the city, you also get to be a part of their everyday dealings, albeit indirectly. As you gain knowledge about the things they do, you might be able to incorporate them into your life and, perhaps, create your own success story. Even Brad Pitt drove his way right into Hollywood while chauffeuring a limousine.
While this article doesn't list the most perfect job for you, it surely brings forth some of the most basic of jobs that might give you some life lessons and, hopefully, make you a better person and employee.
Here are the jobs that everyone, including you, should try at least once in their lives.
Waiter
It is one of the most basic of jobs and, in fact, quite a number of people (like Lady Gaga and Jen Aniston) have actually done this at some point of their lives. As you wait on tables, you learn qualities like patience, humility and subservience. The best part is that you earn more in tips that would make your salary look tiny.
Baby sitter
It might be justified if you wouldn't want to associate yourself with what you consider a girl's job. However, this job deserves at least one go because it might help you in your later life, apart from helping you make some extra bucks. Before marriage, men usually find kids extremely annoying and even repulsive to a great extent. When you opt for baby-sitting as a job, you learn how to deal with the very babies that made you cringe before. This could, in fact, be the first step you could take towards fatherhood and would be a great thing to do before you plan to start your own family. Even Anne Hathaway was a baby sitter before she hit it big time in Hollywood (if that's any consolation).
Salesman
For the thrill of convincing someone to pay you money for something they don't need. The more you succeed in it, the more your feeling of awesomeness. Learning the tricks of the selling trade not only adds to your smartness but also to your inherent ability to manipulate others. Also, there certainly is some charm to a job that was Jerry Seinfield's first.
Customer Service Representative
This particular job is more like stepping into somebody else's shoes. To be more precise, all those customer care reps you have yelled your lungs out at, at some point of your life. You'll realize that being a customer service executive is, indeed, a job much tougher and challenging than any other desk bound job that you might opt for. Hopefully, after this stint, you'll stop holding the customer care rep. responsible for every fault of his employers.
Driver/ Chauffeur
You're a man and there's no thrill better than getting behind some nasty wheels. While driving a taxi might not exactly be as thrilling, getting yourself a job as a chauffeur of high profile businessman or a celebrity might just be the start of a fantastic experience. While you whisk them around the city, you also get to be a part of their everyday dealings, albeit indirectly. As you gain knowledge about the things they do, you might be able to incorporate them into your life and, perhaps, create your own success story. Even Brad Pitt drove his way right into Hollywood while chauffeuring a limousine.
The colour of sky
If we look at the sky on a perfectly fine summer‘s day we shall find that theblue colour is the most pure and intense overhead，and when looking high up in adirection opposite to the sun. Near the horizon it is always less bright，whilein the region immediately around the sun it is more or less yellow. The reasonof this is that near the horizon we look through a very great thickness of thelower atmosphere，which is full of the larger dust particles reflecting whitelight，and this diluter the pure blue of the higher atmosphere seen beyond，And inthe vicinity of the sun a good deal of the blue light is reflected back intospace by the finer dust，thus giving a yellowish tinge to that which reaches usreflected chiefly from the coarse dust of the lower atmosphere. At sunset andsunrise，however，this last effect is greatly intensified，owing to the greatthickness of the strata of air through which the light reaches us. The enormousamount of this dust is well shown by the fact that then only we can look full atthe sun，even when the whole sky is free from clouds and there is no apparentmist.
But the sun’s rays then reach us after having passed，first，throughan enormous thickness of the higher strata of the air，the minute dust of whichreflects most of the higher strata of the air，the minute dust of which reflectsmost of the blue rays away from us，leaving the complementary yellow light topass on，Then，the somewhat coarser dust reflects the green rays，leaving a moreorange-coloured light to pass on；and finally some of the yellow isreflected，leaving almost pure red. But owing to the constant presence of aircurrents，arranging both the dust and vapour in strata of varying extent anddensity，and of high or low clouds which both absorb and reflect the light invarying degrees，we see produced all those wondrous combinations of tints andthose gorgeous ever-changing colours which are a constant source of admirationand delight to all who have the advantage of an uninterrupted view to the westand who are accustomed to watch for those not infrequent exhibitions of nature‘skaleidoscopic colour painting. With every change in the altitude of the sun thedisplay changes its character；and most of all when it has sunk below thehorizon，and owing to the more favourable angles a larger quantity of thecoloured light is reflected toward us，Especially when there is a certain amountof cloud is this the case. These，so long as the sun was above thehorizon，intercepted much of the light and colour，but when the great luminary haspassed away from our direct vision，his light shines more directly on the undersides of all the clouds and air strata of different densities；a new and morebrilliant light flushes the western sky，and a display of gorgeous ever-changingtints occurs which are at once the delight of the beholder and the despair ofthe artist. And all this unsurpassable glory we oweto——dust！
But the sun’s rays then reach us after having passed，first，throughan enormous thickness of the higher strata of the air，the minute dust of whichreflects most of the higher strata of the air，the minute dust of which reflectsmost of the blue rays away from us，leaving the complementary yellow light topass on，Then，the somewhat coarser dust reflects the green rays，leaving a moreorange-coloured light to pass on；and finally some of the yellow isreflected，leaving almost pure red. But owing to the constant presence of aircurrents，arranging both the dust and vapour in strata of varying extent anddensity，and of high or low clouds which both absorb and reflect the light invarying degrees，we see produced all those wondrous combinations of tints andthose gorgeous ever-changing colours which are a constant source of admirationand delight to all who have the advantage of an uninterrupted view to the westand who are accustomed to watch for those not infrequent exhibitions of nature‘skaleidoscopic colour painting. With every change in the altitude of the sun thedisplay changes its character；and most of all when it has sunk below thehorizon，and owing to the more favourable angles a larger quantity of thecoloured light is reflected toward us，Especially when there is a certain amountof cloud is this the case. These，so long as the sun was above thehorizon，intercepted much of the light and colour，but when the great luminary haspassed away from our direct vision，his light shines more directly on the undersides of all the clouds and air strata of different densities；a new and morebrilliant light flushes the western sky，and a display of gorgeous ever-changingtints occurs which are at once the delight of the beholder and the despair ofthe artist. And all this unsurpassable glory we oweto——dust！
the butterfly effect of Life
Thank you for your application. We would like to congratulate you,” the letter read. Those words can make your heart skip a beat and bring tears to your eyes. The feeling of following your dreams is inexplicable and proof that all your hard work was worth it.
It is a signpost in life, a trail marker. It is a day you will never forget, the day you opened that envelope and your future was revealed. But what about all those days in-between—the ones that make and break you, the days that are nothing special.
Would you have received that acceptance letter had you not attended the college fair at your school? What if you had forgotten to send an essay with your application, would you have been rejected?
In life, one step creates the next. Each day is of equal importance, no matter how good or bad. There is no moment in life that does not matter. Regardless of how insignificant, each choice, each day, each idea, is the birth of the next. Something simple can completely reshape your life. It’s just like the Butterfly Effect and you never know what is at the end. To go back in time and change one moment in the many that create your life could change everything that follows.
If I’ve learned anything, it is that everything matters. You can struggle through life in an attempt to create the perfect path, but the truth is you will always wonder if it could have been better. Everything is important and nothing need be changed—to climb up the hill may be difficult, but you’ll reach the top no matter which path you choose.
It is a signpost in life, a trail marker. It is a day you will never forget, the day you opened that envelope and your future was revealed. But what about all those days in-between—the ones that make and break you, the days that are nothing special.
Would you have received that acceptance letter had you not attended the college fair at your school? What if you had forgotten to send an essay with your application, would you have been rejected?
In life, one step creates the next. Each day is of equal importance, no matter how good or bad. There is no moment in life that does not matter. Regardless of how insignificant, each choice, each day, each idea, is the birth of the next. Something simple can completely reshape your life. It’s just like the Butterfly Effect and you never know what is at the end. To go back in time and change one moment in the many that create your life could change everything that follows.
If I’ve learned anything, it is that everything matters. You can struggle through life in an attempt to create the perfect path, but the truth is you will always wonder if it could have been better. Everything is important and nothing need be changed—to climb up the hill may be difficult, but you’ll reach the top no matter which path you choose.
One kiss One love
one kiss, on1e love,one world, on1e dream........... sometimes,I want to tell you ...tell you my feelings to you. I can't stand it,bear it.Listen me carefully,listen in my heart. Where is my guide? In the wild wrold, I ‘m alived ,but he changed,everywhere,everything,all of it..Don’t you understand me ,girl?? Forgive you,there is nothing to forgive..So be crazy..It’s my choice...What’s that meaning?
There is a deep feeling in my heart ,I will accept a girl ,i love, we loved forever in the future .
It is worth loving ,by now and future. This is not the end….it is the beginning...
You told me on1ce….you are very happy with me.
This day would come..My path is hidden from me. You have a chance for another life..Away from ….grief….despair...
There is a deep feeling in my heart ,I will accept a girl ,i love, we loved forever in the future .
It is worth loving ,by now and future. This is not the end….it is the beginning...
You told me on1ce….you are very happy with me.
This day would come..My path is hidden from me. You have a chance for another life..Away from ….grief….despair...
Welcome what comes or Run?
Some people say that we should welcome whatever comes our way.
If unpleasant are directed at us, that's all the better.
The best way to deal with it is by absorbing it.
If we can digest whatever hits us, then we can handle anything.
There is no such thing as a "problem" conquers.
I admire people that are tough like that.
The truth is, it's much easier said than done.
If someone says something that isn't complimentary, we take it hard.
If an unwanted change faces us, we whine and try to avoid it.
We would rather side step a challenge if we can.
I guess it's possible to prepare for some challenges.
In the same way that we take a practice test before we take a real test... or the way that we train before a race,
we can also do some preparation for certain challenges.
Before a speech, we can practice giving that speech to our friends.
It's better to get criticism from a friend who cares about you than from a person in our company who might want to take our job.
Before an interview, we can do out best to prepare answers to questions we know will come our way.
I wish I could prepare for every challenge that comes my way.
The motto of the Boy Scouts is "be prepared."
But life always throws us surprises, so we can only do our best.
Having a good attitude and welcoming the challenges and changes... seems like the best way to go.
Love is not possessive
Love is not possessive.As you like the moon but it's impossible to bring the moon down and keep it. But the moonlight will still shine into your room. In thesame way, you canposses the person you love in a different manner. Let the one you love remails in your memory always.
You can't say why when you truly love someone. You oly know at any moment, in good mood or bad, you just want this person by your side; True love is when two people are able towithstand the worst times, yet not demanding anything from each other. After all, love requires one to give, and not just receiving.
If you really love someone, you need to love who he is--love his good, and his bad. Love his strengths and his weaknesses. Never wish that he'll change to become the person you want him to be because you love him.
You can't say why when you truly love someone. You oly know at any moment, in good mood or bad, you just want this person by your side; True love is when two people are able towithstand the worst times, yet not demanding anything from each other. After all, love requires one to give, and not just receiving.
If you really love someone, you need to love who he is--love his good, and his bad. Love his strengths and his weaknesses. Never wish that he'll change to become the person you want him to be because you love him.
Staying in touch with old friends
I recently met an old friend I hadn’t seen in ages.
He said that he had been busy and also didn’t really know to contact me.
I told him the same.
The truth is, we have a few mutual friends, if we had really wanted to contact each other, we could have.
But with busy schedules, and family life--and all sorts of things going on --well, I guess we just lost touch.
So, I got to thinking about the people I am in touch with now and those I’d like to contact.
I have a lot of friends and acquaintances,
I used to have many more. Somewhere along the line,
we just lost contact with each other.
I’d like to contact some of my friends from high school.
I’d like to say hello to some of the people I used to know in New York and California,
I know I could do it.
It wouldn’t require me to bend over backwards,
but I am not sure if I should.
I mean, I have my hands full right now with family and work.
Plus, I have people that I am in contact with now,
and I fell kind of guilty that I am not able to spend more time with them.
Who needs more guilt? Not me!
He said that he had been busy and also didn’t really know to contact me.
I told him the same.
The truth is, we have a few mutual friends, if we had really wanted to contact each other, we could have.
But with busy schedules, and family life--and all sorts of things going on --well, I guess we just lost touch.
So, I got to thinking about the people I am in touch with now and those I’d like to contact.
I have a lot of friends and acquaintances,
I used to have many more. Somewhere along the line,
we just lost contact with each other.
I’d like to contact some of my friends from high school.
I’d like to say hello to some of the people I used to know in New York and California,
I know I could do it.
It wouldn’t require me to bend over backwards,
but I am not sure if I should.
I mean, I have my hands full right now with family and work.
Plus, I have people that I am in contact with now,
and I fell kind of guilty that I am not able to spend more time with them.
Who needs more guilt? Not me!
In praise of hugs
I grew up bereft of hugs. Neither of my parents was the cuddly type. Greetings involving kissing caused me to wince, and hugging generally just made me feel awkward.
Then one hug changed all that. One month before my 40th birthday my dad had heart surgery. As he came round, days later, he grabbed me and hugged me so hard I had to push with all my might to keep my head from pressing down on his newly stitched torso（.
It was a hug to make up for all those we had never had. Days later as he slowly started to gain strength he told me for the first time ever that he loved me, and through my tears I told him I loved him too.
I began planning how to bake him better – with carrot cakes, victoria sponges, jelly and ice cream. My maternal streak kicked in and I fantasised about wheeling him through the park and feeding him home-made goodies. Then he died.
I felt cheated. All my life I had wondered whether my dad cared for me and loved me – I doubted it. Just as I got proof that he did, he passed away.
My parents split up when I was two years old and, while I had monthly contact with my dad, my bitter stepmother and my father's old-fashioned stiff upper lip meant we never became close. In fact, I used to dread the visits to see him and count the hours until I could go home again.
When I was very little the weekends at my father's house felt cold and unfriendly. During my teens the trips to a hostile house became a dread on the horizon for weeks beforehand. Each stay culminated in an uncomfortable peck on the cheek from Dad as he said goodbye – a moment I cringed about for hours in advance.
And yet standing beside the hospital bed watching the life ebb from my sleeping father was painful. I felt like a little girl at his bedside, unable to talk to him yet again. I became fixated with his fingers – fat and soft, lying gently curled beside him. Slowly they transformed from plump sausages to stone – white and immovable. It was his fingers that told me he had gone from this life, not the bleeping of monitors or the bustling of nursing staff.
Losing a father whom you have no recollection of ever living with is difficult. Grieving is tricky; I didn't have any obvious close father-daughter memories to cling to and mull and cry over. Most of my memories were of stilted meetings and uncomfortable times together. But I desperately missed him being alive.
As time moved on my grief and anger at his untimely death began to recede. I realised that his affirmation of me from his deathbed had filled a gaping hole of insecurity I had constantly carried around.
To a child a hug says so many things. It tells you that the person hugging you loves you, cares for you. A hug also confirms that you are a lovable being. Months after Dad's death I realised with a jolt that his lack of hugs said more about him than me. My father was not a demonstrative man and I was, therefore, perhaps, a lovable being.
Once I digested this insight my feelings changed from those of a needy child to ones of a very proud daughter. Looking at my father more objectively allowed me to view him clearly: he was a man of few words; he was intelligent, kind and extremely modest. Ironically I began to feel closer to him in death than I had while he was alive.
With this new-found wisdom came the freedom to give up trying so very hard to gain the affections of others and to concentrate on finding me. I shattered the family taboo of silence about the break-up of my parents' marriage. I also felt the need to speak out about the detrimental effect I felt my step-parents had had on my life.
In some ways the consequences have been quite dire and I no longer have contact with my mother. However, Dad's hug had a profound effect on me. It carried me along a path from childhood to adulthood. At last I am my own woman and one who loves nothing better than a good old-fashioned hug.
Then one hug changed all that. One month before my 40th birthday my dad had heart surgery. As he came round, days later, he grabbed me and hugged me so hard I had to push with all my might to keep my head from pressing down on his newly stitched torso（.
It was a hug to make up for all those we had never had. Days later as he slowly started to gain strength he told me for the first time ever that he loved me, and through my tears I told him I loved him too.
I began planning how to bake him better – with carrot cakes, victoria sponges, jelly and ice cream. My maternal streak kicked in and I fantasised about wheeling him through the park and feeding him home-made goodies. Then he died.
I felt cheated. All my life I had wondered whether my dad cared for me and loved me – I doubted it. Just as I got proof that he did, he passed away.
My parents split up when I was two years old and, while I had monthly contact with my dad, my bitter stepmother and my father's old-fashioned stiff upper lip meant we never became close. In fact, I used to dread the visits to see him and count the hours until I could go home again.
When I was very little the weekends at my father's house felt cold and unfriendly. During my teens the trips to a hostile house became a dread on the horizon for weeks beforehand. Each stay culminated in an uncomfortable peck on the cheek from Dad as he said goodbye – a moment I cringed about for hours in advance.
And yet standing beside the hospital bed watching the life ebb from my sleeping father was painful. I felt like a little girl at his bedside, unable to talk to him yet again. I became fixated with his fingers – fat and soft, lying gently curled beside him. Slowly they transformed from plump sausages to stone – white and immovable. It was his fingers that told me he had gone from this life, not the bleeping of monitors or the bustling of nursing staff.
Losing a father whom you have no recollection of ever living with is difficult. Grieving is tricky; I didn't have any obvious close father-daughter memories to cling to and mull and cry over. Most of my memories were of stilted meetings and uncomfortable times together. But I desperately missed him being alive.
As time moved on my grief and anger at his untimely death began to recede. I realised that his affirmation of me from his deathbed had filled a gaping hole of insecurity I had constantly carried around.
To a child a hug says so many things. It tells you that the person hugging you loves you, cares for you. A hug also confirms that you are a lovable being. Months after Dad's death I realised with a jolt that his lack of hugs said more about him than me. My father was not a demonstrative man and I was, therefore, perhaps, a lovable being.
Once I digested this insight my feelings changed from those of a needy child to ones of a very proud daughter. Looking at my father more objectively allowed me to view him clearly: he was a man of few words; he was intelligent, kind and extremely modest. Ironically I began to feel closer to him in death than I had while he was alive.
With this new-found wisdom came the freedom to give up trying so very hard to gain the affections of others and to concentrate on finding me. I shattered the family taboo of silence about the break-up of my parents' marriage. I also felt the need to speak out about the detrimental effect I felt my step-parents had had on my life.
In some ways the consequences have been quite dire and I no longer have contact with my mother. However, Dad's hug had a profound effect on me. It carried me along a path from childhood to adulthood. At last I am my own woman and one who loves nothing better than a good old-fashioned hug.
Freedom Choice and Responsibility
I love choices.
I love to walk around in bookstores-not because I can buy all the books,
but because I could buy one book, and I have so many to choose from.
I like buffets.
I rarely get to go to them, but when I do,
the first thing I do is walk around and see what the choice are.
。
I also like the internet.
It seems like cyberspace really doesn't have any limits.
There are so many things to discover--- like space.
Sometimes, I think we don't appreciate the freedom that we have.
We are free to make many different choice.
From the food we eat--- to the places we visit--- to the people we meet--- to the classes we take and on and on and on.
but freedom has dangers. If misused, it can be harmful.
I could pile a mountain of food on my plate and NOT to eat it.
it would be a waste. but that's a choice I have.
The Internet has dangers, too.
If parents are not careful and don't supervise what their kids can see--- well kids can lose some of their innocence because of freedom.
There's a reason for legal age limits when it comes to driving, gambling, drinking,somking, and voting.
Until we reach that age, we aren't free to do those things.
I love to walk around in bookstores-not because I can buy all the books,
but because I could buy one book, and I have so many to choose from.
I like buffets.
I rarely get to go to them, but when I do,
the first thing I do is walk around and see what the choice are.
。
I also like the internet.
It seems like cyberspace really doesn't have any limits.
There are so many things to discover--- like space.
Sometimes, I think we don't appreciate the freedom that we have.
We are free to make many different choice.
From the food we eat--- to the places we visit--- to the people we meet--- to the classes we take and on and on and on.
but freedom has dangers. If misused, it can be harmful.
I could pile a mountain of food on my plate and NOT to eat it.
it would be a waste. but that's a choice I have.
The Internet has dangers, too.
If parents are not careful and don't supervise what their kids can see--- well kids can lose some of their innocence because of freedom.
There's a reason for legal age limits when it comes to driving, gambling, drinking,somking, and voting.
Until we reach that age, we aren't free to do those things.
2012年6月5日星期二
Sex temples of Kathmandu
Reproductive worship is the religion of Nepal is very important part, they believe that the sublimation of human consciousness can achieve unity with God.
Three of the Kathmandu Valley, the old Palace Square, stands the many worship totems, which constitutes the distinctive "temple"."The sexual Temple" building the most special place of sexual intercourse patterns in each bracing the pillars of the temple above, there is a very fine carved.
Sex temple carvings, the reason why there are so many men and women intercourse because Hindus believe that the combination of Shiva and the goddess of sexual force is the driving force behind the life of creation.God mate, who mated with humans and animals mating, same-sex mating, heterosexual mating, God, man, beast, animal body, face each other to melt, tens of thousands of sexual intercourse posture engraved in wood carving above, after the millennium.
In fact, for those more conservative Nepalese sex relief of these people blush just from the manifestations of religion and the arts. Sex sculpture based on the teachings of the eighth century in India "Kama Sutra", the full expression of the ancient religious values and the worship of the reproductive capacity.Said that the reproduction worship has two effects, First, allow people to enhance their own idea to defeat evil, is to encourage people to procreate.
The face of human sex here show, no cover, no taboos.Despite the slightly exaggerated form of expression, but also image fidelity, distinctive.
The death of the cat was converted into a remote control helicopter
Many animal lovers, it is difficult to face they have dependents is now dead pets.
However, Jansen Bart, the Netherlands, "artist" filled his bird died in a car accident shortly before the kitten Orville, it will be converted into a remote control cat helicopter.
YEUNG Sum Bart's eyesight, his cat to become a permanent work of art.Cat Orville artists master into a helicopterBart Johnson said, "Orville helicopterOrwell's owner said that it was "half cat, half-machine", his cat Orville is part of the helicopter.
The artist with his co-operation, Dr YEUNG Sum said: "After a period of mourning, he accepted its propeller. He added that Orville soon "with the birds took off," ah, he was very fond of birds.
At his birthday party, he will get a more powerful engine and larger props. Thus, this desire will soon be smoothly achieved.
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