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داستانی دیگر "inside out it" |
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دوشنبه هجدهم دی 1385-15:53
-IT IS ME |
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He taught me to inside out it.
Two years ago, my friend Mike suggested that I write my own column. Back then, I was writing a newspaper column, but not the type I most wanted to write. Editors kept telling me that there wasn't a market for a column about moments. And, sadly, I was beginning to believe them.
Until Mike told me that I should inside out it. Which, he explained, meant that I should start at the end, and simply do it to be it. So that, if I wanted to be a columnist, I should just be one, and begin writing my own online column.
So I did.
Then, he followed his own advice. Ten months ago, Mike told me that he wanted to write a movie script. At first, I was skeptical because, in the past, he has had some trouble finishing things. As most of us do
But, this time, it was different. He bought screenwriting books and struggled through crafting his story. He spent late nights at a bookstore, working on scenes and making his characters real. He began to talk like a screenwriter.
Then, last week, he told me that he had finished. In ten months, he had gone from someone buying a screenwriting book to someone finishing a script.
He had moved. It had hurt. On some days, it had hurt bad. But he did it.
He had taught himself to inside out it. And, somewhere along the way to wanting to be a screenwriter, he became one.
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علت خودکشی دسته جمعی نهنگ ها؟ |
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دوشنبه هجدهم دی 1385-15:50
-IT IS ME |
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خودکشی نهنگ ها هر چند سالی در اخبار و روزنامه ها شنیده می شود که عده ای از نهنگ ها به صورت دسته جمعی خود را به ساحل می زنند ، از آب خارج شده و در معرض خشکی قرار می گیرند . هر بار خبرنگاران زیادی این موضوع را پوشش می دهند ، افراد زیادی هم برای تماشای این صحنه به سواحل می روند و عده ای هم برای کمک به نجات نهنگ ها می شتابند که در نهایت تنها تعداد بسیار قلیلی از این نهنگ ها نجات می یابند و اکثر آنها تلف می شوند . جالب اینجاست که دانشمندان ، محققین و زیست شناسان زیادی برای کشف علت این خودکشی دسته جمعی مطالعه می کنند و با اینکه علم تا این حد پیشرفت کرده اما هنوز مشکل ، درد و یا علت اصلی این خودکشی را پیدا نکرده اند .
آیا شما چیزی در این مورد میدونین؟ |
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یک داستان دیگر"The Holly Trees" |
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پنجشنبه چهاردهم دی 1385-12:5
-IT IS ME |
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Growing up in the sixties wasn't easy when your parents were divorced and your dad seemed to have disappeared off the face of the planet - especially when everyone else seemed to be living like Ozzie and Harriet. And although my mom worked hard to keep us clothed and fed, when Christmastime rolled around, life suddenly seemed rather bleak and barren. About the time of the school Christmas party, all I could think about was making that three-hour drive to my grandparents' house where Christmas was really Christmas. Where food and relatives abounded, and artificial trees, like the cheesy tin-foil job in our tiny living room, were not allowed. You see, every year, my grandpa cut down a tree tall enough to touch the high ceiling in their old Victorian house. We often got to help; but some years, especially if we arrived just before Christmas, the tree would already be up, but we'd still help decorate it.
One year, just two days before Christmas, we arrived and the tree wasn't up. I asked Grandpa if we were going out to the woods to get one. He just smiled his little half smile, blue eyes twinkling mischievously, and said we weren't going out to the woods this year. I worried and watched my grandpa all afternoon, wondering what we were going to do about the tree, but he just went about his business as if nothing whatsoever was unusual. Finally just after dinner, Grandpa went and got his ax. At last, I thought, we are going to cut down a tree. But in the dark?
Grandpa grinned and told me to come outside. I followed him, wondering where he could cut a tree down at night. My grandparents' large home was situated on a small lot in the middle of town, with no U-cut trees anywhere nearby. But Grandpa went out to the parking strip next to their house and began whacking away at the trunk of one of his own mature holly trees - the tallest one, a beautiful tree loaded with bright red berries. I stared at him, in silent shock. What in the world was he doing? And what would Grandma say?
"The city says I gotta cut these trees down," he explained between whacks. "They're too close to the street. I figure if I take one out each Christmas, it will keep us in trees for three years." He grinned down at me, and the tree fell. Then my sister and I helped him carry it into the house, getting poked and pricked with every step of the way. I still wasn't sure what I thought about having a holly tree for a Christmas tree. I'd never heard of such a thing.
But when we had the tree in the stand and situated in its place of honor in one of the big bay windows, I knew that it was not a mistake. It was absolutely gorgeous. We all just stood and stared at its dark green glossy leaves and abundant bright red berries. "It's so beautiful," said Grandma. "It doesn't even need decorations." But my sister and I loved the process of decorating, and we insisted it did. We began to hang lights and ornaments - carefully. It isn't easy decorating a holly tree. But with each new poke we laughed and complained good-naturedly.
For three years, we had holly trees for Christmas. And now, whenever I get pricked by holly, I think of Grandpa.
Later on in life, after my grandpa passed away, I learned about the symbolism of holly and why we use it at Christmas — and how the red berries represent droplets of Christ's blood. I don't know if my grandpa knew about all that, but he did know how to be a father to the fatherless. And he knew how to salvage good from evil. My grandpa didn't like to waste anything.
 
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A STORY |
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چهارشنبه سیزدهم دی 1385-2:1
-IT IS ME |
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"The Rose Babies"
Most people press a flower in a book when they wish to keep it as a memento. My mother doesn't believe in preserving a memory by hiding it. Her motto is, "Don't press it! When will you look at it again tucked away in a book? Make it grow! Enjoy its beauty as a living flower, not as a withered keepsake."
That's my mother. She can make anything grow.
Recently, Mom received a mixed bouquet of flowers from her sister for her birthday. She is especially fond of roses and was delighted to find two roses in the bouquet. "Oh, look at the lovely roses. I've never seen such a beautiful shade of peach in a rose. I must save it as a souvenir."
I have seen this process many times, but I watch in awe each time. She takes one of the roses and cuts the bottom at an angle with a pair of scissors, wraps the bottom in a dampened paper towel and places the rose in a plastic bag to keep it moist.
Now I know it's my turn. The magic is about to begin. I run to the pantry to get a quart jar, once used for canning peaches.
"Here's the enchanted glass jar," I announce, as I return with it.
We head for her lilac bush. I carry the jar and the plastic bag that contains the rose. She carries warm water in an old coffee can, bent so that it has a spout on each side of it. My mother deliberately keeps her lilac bush overgrown. She trims it in such a way that it becomes fat and dense. The soil beneath it is damp and warm. She easily digs a hole with her hands and places the rose cutting in the hole. I help her carefully pack the dirt around the rose. She places the glass jar over the rose, and firmly twists it into the ground.
Finally, she gives the rose a drink, pointing the spout of the coffee can to the bottom of the glass jar. She whispers, "Oh, little rose, let me warm your toes, this'll keep you safe when the cold wind blows. See you in the spring, little rose."
"Little rose is all ready for her long winter's nap," she explains to me as we walk back to the house.
My mother is shameless when it comes to asking for a rose from someone's front yard or their garden. But no one ever refuses her request. And one time, the giver was especially glad she had shared her bounty.
It was a lovely summer day. My mother and I were walking past our neighbor Dorothy working in her garden. My mother stopped to admire one of Dorothy's roses.
"I've never seen such a beautiful lavender rose, blending into silver at the edge of the petals. Would you mind if I choose one to enjoy?" she asked Dorothy. Proud of her special lavender rosebush, Dorothy was delighted to cut the rose and graciously hand it to my mother. But the lavender rose did not go into a vase, as Dorothy probably assumed. It joined the others under the lilac bush, protected under its very own glass jar.
That Christmas Dorothy told us that the beautiful lavender rosebush had been stricken by disease in the fall, and it couldn't be saved. "It was my favorite," she said sadly, "and I haven't been able to find another to replace it."
Spring was delayed that year, but finally the fear of frost was gone. My mother was eager to uncover her rose cuttings, each protected under its miniature greenhouse.
"I wonder how many of my rose babies will be ready to begin their new lives?" she mused.
As always, I watched in amazement as my mother uncovered her rose babies. Carefully, she twisted the first glass jar from the warm earth: It was the lavender rose clipping. Would that beautiful rose be reborn? She spied a baby shoot, a tiny leaf peeking its way through the stem. Indeed, the lavender rose was alive.
Mom whispered to me, "Wait until late summer, and I'll have a surprise for Dorothy. I'll nourish our baby, and it'll thrive into a beautiful bush. She'll have her lavender rosebush again. It'll be our secret until then."
And sure enough, late that summer, Dorothy cried for joy as she received her surprise – a healthy new lavender rosebush.
On the card was the following:
Here's a small gift from my garden to you.
It began the day someone gave me a rose, too.
I planted that rose in the good, warm earth,
And I nurtured it – hence its happy rebirth.
After you've planted this gift and it grows,
To keep up the cycle, may I impose?
If I may be bold, do you suppose,
That I might request its very first rose?
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شنبه نهم دی 1385-3:20
-IT IS ME |
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I LIKE TO TALK MORE ABOUT MY DEAR FRIEND IN CHINA, WITH THE NAME OF HENRY. KIND, SINCERE, PATIANT, AND LOVELY. A REAL HARDWORKING MAN IN CHINA.
 HOPE HE WILL BE GLAD FOR HIS LAST BUSINESS.
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شنبه نهم دی 1385-1:16
-IT IS ME |
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:WHO KNOWS HOW CAN I GET RIDE OF MY DISEASE
??(Hiatal Hernia, and (GERD
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شنبه نهم دی 1385-0:54
-IT IS ME |
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I DO MY JOB BY INTERNET. AND IT IS FROM 26 DEC. WHICH THIS TERRIBLE EARTHQUAKE HAPPENED. PLEASE SEE WHAT HAPPENED FOR MSN, YAHOO MESSENGER AND EMAILS .
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شنبه نهم دی 1385-0:48
-IT IS ME |
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| Internet Cable Damaged Badly by Taiwan Earthquake |
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2006-12-28 10:27:18 |
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Access to overseas websites from the Chinese mainland slowed to a crawl yesterday as a powerful earthquake off the Taiwan coast knocked off international undersea fibre-optic cables on Tuesday, affecting communications around Asia.
China Telecom Corp, the mainland‘s largest fixed-line carrier, said six undersea cables were cut off 15 kilometers from the southern coast of Taiwan, causing severe Internet congestion on the mainland. International voice calls were also affected.
A survey by Internet portal Sina.com yesterday showed that 97 percent of Internet users on the mainland had difficulty accessing overseas websites, and 57 percent said their lives and work were
Hong Kong Computer Emergency Response Team Coordination Center Manager Roy Ko said it might take months to repair the cables. .
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CHRISTMAS |
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جمعه هشتم دی 1385-1:24
-IT IS ME |
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NEW YEAR 2007 IS COMING, HERE I WOULD WISH YOU IN ADVANCE ALL BEST IN THE CHRISTMAS TIME AND ALSO FOR NEW YEAR 2007. MANY SMILE, GOOD HEALTH, MANY SUCCESS IN PRIVATE LIFE AND OF COURSE IN BUSINESS.
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