the college students

  His name was Bill. He had wild hair seo company hong kong, wore a T-shirt with holes in it, blue jeans and no shoes. In the entire time I knew him I never once saw Bill wear a pair of shoes. Rain, sleet or snow, Bill was barefoot. This was literally his wardrobe for his whole four years of college.
  He was brilliant and looked like he was always pondering the esoteric. He became a Christian while attending college. Across the street from the campus was a church full of well-dressed, middle-class people. They wanted to develop a ministry to the college students, but they were not sure how to go about it.
  One day, Bill decided to worship there. He walked into the church, complete with his wild hair, T-shirt, blue jeans and bare feet. The church was completely packed, and the service had already begun. Bill started down the aisle to find a place to sit. By now the people were looking a bit uncomfortable, but no one said anything.
  As Bill moved closer and closer to the pulpit, he realized there were no empty seats. So he squatted and sat down on the carpet right up front. (Although such behavior would have been perfectly acceptable at the college fellowship , this was a scenario this particular congregation had never witnessed before!) By now, the people seemed uptight, and the tension in the air was thickening.
  Right about the time Bill took his “seat,” a deacon began slowly making his way down the aisle from the back of the sanctuary. The deacon was in his eighties, had silver gray hair, a three-piece suit and a pocket watch. He was a godly man -- very elegant, dignified and courtly. He walked with a cane and, as he neared the boy, church members thought, “You can’t blame him for what he’s going to do. How can you expect a man of his age and background to understand some college kid on the floor?”
  It took a long time for the man to reach the boy. The church was utterly silent except for the clicking of his cane. You couldn’t even hear anyone breathing. All eyes were on the deacon.
  But then they saw the elderly man drop his cane on the floor. With great difficulty, he sat down on the floor next to Bill and worshipped with him. Everyone in the congregation choked up with emotion. When the minister gained control, he told the people, “What I am about to preach, you will never remember. What you’ve just seen, you will never forget.”
posted by meimei51 at 12:30| Comment(0) | 日記 | 更新情報をチェックする


turkey and fruit

Several times each year the Queen gives afternoon tea parties at which guests are served tiny cakes filled with cream from her own cows HKUE ENG. Cakes and sandwiches are brought in by footmen, yet you never see the Queen touch a thing. She simply sits beside a big silver plate, pouring cups of tea for everyone and carefully avoiding the cakes.

  At cocktail parties the Queen moves from group to group, chatting informally, and manages to make one glass of diet drink to last an entire evening.

  Tours abroad are difficult because hosts seem to believe the warmth of their welcome must be shown with wonderful state banquets . But the Queen has perfected the art of appearing to enjoy her meal without actually eating much.

  During one visit to the Pacific islands of Tonga, a specially-prepared dinner was arranged in a hut made of wood and bamboo leaves. Deep holes were dug in the ground, filled with hot stones and baby pigs, and the pigs were slowly baked over several days. The Queen looked uneasily at her plate when she discovered a whole roast pig was her serving.

  Then she became uneasy when a turkey, some meat, bananas and an apple were also carried in for each guest. So she depended on her old favorite trick of talking with her host. , King Tupou IV, carrying on a warm conversation. At the same time she pushed her food around her plate and only ate a piece of turkey and some fruit.

  Reporters traveling with her have noted that the Queen will sometimes seem so carried away by a foreign leader’s political chat that she simply never has time to finish a meal before it is time to get up and make her speech . She will lift her fork to swallow a mouthful, then put it down again to make another point, leaving almost all of her meal untouched.
posted by meimei51 at 15:54| Comment(0) | 日記 | 更新情報をチェックする


Do not let it happen Do not let it happen. Do not let it happen. Do not let it happen. Do not let it happen. Do not let it happen

I was already a bad mother virtual office. These babies--these phantom babies--came up a lot in our arguments. Who would take care of the babies? Who would stay home with the babies? Who would financially support the babies? Who would feed the babies in the middle of the night? I remember saying once to my friend Susan, when my marriage was becoming intolerable, "I don't want my children growing up in a household like this." Susan said, "Why don't you leave those so-called children out of the discussion? They don't even exist yet, Liz. Why can't you just admit that you don't want to live in unhappiness anymore? That neither of you does. And it's better to realize it now, by the way, than in the delivery room when you're at five centimeters."

I remember going to a party in New York around that time. A couple, a pair of successful artists, had just had a baby, and the mother was celebrating a gallery opening of her new paintings. I remember watching this woman, the new mother, my friend, the artist, as she tried to be hostess to this party (which was in her loft) at the same time as taking care of her infant and trying to discuss her work professionally. I never saw somebody look so sleep-deprived in my life. I can never forget the image of her standing in her kitchen after midnight, elbows-deep in a sink full of dishes, trying to clean up after this event. Her husband (I am sorry to report it, and I fully realize this is not at all representational of every husband) was in the other room, feet literally on the coffee table, watching TV. She finally asked him if he would help clean the kitchen, and he said, "Leave it, hon--we'll clean up in the morning." The baby started crying again hong kong hotel price. My friend was leaking breast milk through her cocktail dress.

Almost certainly, other people who attended this party came away with different images than I did. Any number of the other guests could have felt great envy for this beautiful woman with her healthy new baby, for her successful artistic career, for her marriage to a nice man, for her lovely apartment, for her cocktail dress. There were people at this party who would probably have traded lives with her in an instant, given the chance. This woman herself probably looks back on that evening--if she ever thinks of it at all--as one tiring but totally worth-it night in her overall satisfying life of motherhood and marriage and career. All I can say for myself, though, is that I spent that whole party trembling in panic, thinking, If you don't recognize that this is your future, Liz, then you are out of your mind.

But did I have a responsibility to have a family? Oh, Lord--responsibility. That word worked on me until I worked on it, until I looked at it carefully and broke it down into the two words that make its true definition: the ability to respond. And what I ultimately had to respond to was the reality that every speck of my being was telling me to get out of my marriage. Somewhere inside me an early-warning system was forecasting that if I kept trying to white-knuckle my way through this storm, I would end up getting cancer. And that if I brought children into the world anyway Botox, just because I didn't want to deal with the hassle or shame of revealing some impractical facts about myself-- this would be an act of grievous irresponsibility.
posted by meimei51 at 10:47| Comment(0) | 日記 | 更新情報をチェックする




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