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DEAR MUN 母亲节快乐~
母亲节起源于希腊，在17世纪中叶，流传到英国，英国人把封斋期的第四个星期天作为母亲节。在这一天里，出门在外的年青人将回到家中，给他们的母亲带上一些小礼物。
现代意义上的母亲节起源于美国，由 Amanm Jarvis（1864－1948）发起。第一个母亲节于1908年5月10日在西弗吉尼亚和宾夕法尼亚州举行，在这次节日里，康乃磬被选中为献给母亲的花，并以此流传下来。
1913年，美国国会通过了一份议案，将每年5月的第二个星期天作为法定的母亲节。母亲节从此流传开来。
祝愿 亲爱的老妈永远平安健康快乐久久~！！ Chinese school - Olympic Fever
The first ever Olympic Game is on the near horizon, as it says in the introduction of the program, China, a one party communist state (is) undergoing rapid change. There are currently 250 million school children in China, and this is the story of three schools in the small town of Shuning in Anhui Province -- life over the golden pig. Autumn is the time of year when the focus of school life makes a race away from the classroom. It may be a thousand miles from BJ, but that hasn’t stopped an Olympic fever reaching Shu Ning County.
This is a BBC program called “Chinese school”. It is actually quite enjoyable and worthwhile, from where to gain a view on how foreigners perceive nowadays China. Besides, it also helps me to probe deeper, to understand and reflect more on specific cultural issues that have raised huge amount of undesirable conflicts, brought so many tears and angers for peoples worldwide in recent months.
Despite the bright side, still, there're things weird. In the first instance, a teacher Jin who is the Communist Secretary of Shuning high school on show. And what are comical about the CS is that when she's firstly saw, it's somewhat darkish and the atmosphere a little bit intense, even the background music is in a gloomy and strange tone. Some other proofs are there: the CS does the radio gymnastic exercise in a black suit and high-heel shoes, and smile like a Buddha urging the students not to waste food in the school canteen -- OH MY GOODNESS ... so who else do you think would have done that??
At least, I, an official graduate of the nine-year compulsory education, have never confronted with, not even in the high school three yeas later on. In my memory, CS was no much different from other heads of a school. They seemed almost the same and we called them all “schoolmaster”. They took turns to hold the routine meeting for the whole school and talked about some similar subjects: last week offenders of rules, praise for good students and other cliché.
Therefore, I secretly doubt that BBC wants to make the image of the CS looked funny, deliberately. Jin might well mean to show cares for her students and passions for the educational cause, while it finally turned up to be quite the opposite, which would definitely be unusual for western audiences to look at. But how comes all these entirely differences from the broadcast institutes? Well, It is probably the typical western mindset toward Chinese Communist Party and its members -- and again, it’s sort of stereotype or political bias. However, no matter from whom this injustice comes, it seems plain that no one is to blame.
As far as I'm concerned, although it is easily to tackle the media bias, it may as well to note that bias shapes the media.
Slept on sheer sorrow yesterday.
Thanks for Your Time! Though it'll finally turn out to be a cliche story, I hope it would still brighten your days and change your perspective on life ... for the better ^_^
It had been some time since Jack had seen the old man. College, girls, career, and life itself got in the way. In fact, Jack moved clear across the country in pursuit of his dreams. There, in the rush of his busy life, Jack had little time to think about the past and often no time to spend with his wife and son. He was working on his future, and nothing could stop him.
Over the phone, his mother told him, "Mr. Belser died last night. The funeral is Wednesday." Memories flashed through his mind like an old newsreel as he sat quietly remembering his childhood days... "Jack, did you hear me?" "Oh, sorry, Mom. Yes, I heard you. It's been so long since I thought of him. I'm sorry, but I honestly thought he died years ago," Jack said. "Well, he didn't forget you. Every time I saw him he'd ask how you were doing. He'd reminisce about the many days you spent over 'his side of the fence' as he put it," Mom told him. "I loved that old house he lived in," Jack said. "You know, Jack, after your father died, Mr. Belser stepped in to make sure you had a man's influence in your life," she said, "He's the one who taught me carpentry," he said. "I wouldn't be in this business if it weren't for him. He spent a lot of time teaching me things he thought were important...Mom, I'll be there for the funeral," Jack said. As busy as he was, he kept his word. Jack caught the next flight to his hometown. Mr. Belser's funeral was small and uneventful. He had no children of his own, and most of his relatives had passed away. The night before he had to return home, Jack and his Mom stopped by to see the old house next door one more time. Standing in the doorway, Jack paused for a moment. It was like crossing over into another dimension, a leap through space and time The house was exactly as he remembered. Every step held memories. Every picture, every piece of furniture....Jack stopped suddenly.
"What's wrong, Jack?" his Mom asked. "The box is gone," he said. "What box?" Mom asked. "There was a small gold box that he kept locked on top of his desk. I must have asked him a thousand times what was inside. All he'd ever tell me was 'the thing I value most,'" Jack said.
It was gone. Everything about the house was exactly how Jack remembered it, except for the box. He figured someone from the Belser family had taken it. "Now I'll never know what was so valuable to him," Jack said. "I better get some sleep. I have an early flight home, Mom." It had been about two weeks since Mr. Belser died. Returning home from work one day Jack discovered a note in his mailbox. "Signature required on a package. No one at home. Please stop by the main post office within the next three days," the note read. Early the next day Jack retrieved the package. The small box was old and looked like it had been mailed a hundred years ago. The handwriting was difficult to read, but the return address caught his attention. "Mr. Harold Belser" it read. Jack took the box out to his car and ripped open the package. There inside was the gold box and an envelope. Jack's hands shook as he read the note inside. "Upon my death, please forward this box and its contents to Jack Bennett. It's the thing I valued most in my life." A small key was taped to the letter. His heart racing, as tears filling his eyes, Jack carefully unlocked the box. There inside he found a beautiful gold pocket watch. Running his fingers slowly over the finely etched casing, he unlatched the cover. Inside he found these words engraved: "Jack, Thanks for your time! -- Harold Belser." "The thing he valued most was...my time." Jack held the watch for a few minutes, then called his office and cleared his appointments for the next two days. "Why?" Janet, his assistant asked. "I need some time to spend with my son," he said. "Oh, by the way, Janet, thanks for your time!" Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take -- but by the moments that take our breath away. 迟到的季节
早晨8点 起身 坐着 发呆 习惯性地拉开窗帘
难以置信地 原本熟悉的景色 被铺天盖地的白色取代
没缘由的惊喜
雪粒纷纷飞扬 在黑色的树干上 勾勒枝丫的白色线条
在玻璃上轻呵一口气
画着各式各样相框
圈出的一幅幅可爱雪图
这是原来很期盼的 一个典型的银色圣诞
四周如此静谧 除了滴滴答答的雨声 伴随雪落下的旋律
雪地闪耀着银色光芒 轻轻地吟唱着 我来迟了
只是一场浅雪 草地上留下一串串深色脚印
静静望着窗外的雪景
品着哈根达斯的云尼拿
白色香气从窗外延伸到舌尖
五个小时的快乐 意犹未尽
It comes when people are all about to leave... well, anyone who cares for a snowman?
One Day In Spring
Dorset Seaside
It was the first day of spring before we left London, the first snowfall of this year as well. We stood under the roof of the Reception waiting, while the icy wind was nipping at face, dull ache and coldness drizzling around. It was rather insufferable
However, surprisingly, when we arrived at the destination, it was summer-liked and the Eagles was singing “Welcome to the Hotel California…” in the air.
After settled down in the Youth Hostel, I was exhausted yet full of curiosity – so what comes next? Well, the second day we went to the seaside, to sense the gentleness and calm waves of the early spring. Chesil Beach is one of the most well known World Heritage Sites located in the Dorset and East Devon Coast. Climbed up of the mountain nearby, looking down the shoreline in the shape of a barb, everyone was just wordless. It reminds me scenes in the movie 10, 000 B.C., the spectacular natural beauty, within the wildness of an unspeakable feeling
During our stay in YHA, we met a professor who lectures Political Philosophy in Bath Univ. What’s amazing is that he had been walking across counties from a far distance away, for approximately tens of miles a day, until he suffered injuries on his heel. I am totally astonished by one’s bravery, and the unwearied pursuit of health like him. We talked about the reasons for his enthusiasm of exploring the countryside, and that was quite an absorbing conversation we held, firstly beside the dinning table in YHA, then moved to the local spiritual center White Horse Inn.
Interestingly, Professor Howard said he doesn’t believe in any religions, neither he himself, as he is not an egoist. Whereas I doubted if he’d be lost without an orientation of the mental life, and where to seek for help when he feels frustrated. He replied in a long speech, explaining his attitude and feelings, but whatsoever, I caught the word, morphine.
Well, exceptional character, unique lifestyle that is. And it brings me a new problem -- will I also be such a like as I have never devoted to any religious faith, nor believed in myself quite well? What kind of experience would it be if I keep my paces as such? Will I indulge myself into drugs once I fall...? Well, it says that men are competitive, women are collaborative. Therefore man goes to extreme lands, woman stays in the middle way. Hopefully, I have my redemption.
A World of Its Own
We then visited the Cerne Abbas Village the next day, where there is a most controversial hill figure in Britain. The origin of the giant is still unknown, while some believe that he is a Celtic warrior, or the Roman god of strength Hercules, as he carries a club. It has even been suggested that he was carved by a local landowner to make fun of Oliver Cromwell in the 17th century.
Thanks to dear Don for this journey
It ended with joys and sorrows, while I farewell the heavenly little town, look at people come and leave of my life. For those who I met and probably never meet again, I am still grateful for the inspiration they ever gave me;
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Invite as friend
... Without too much expectation for the damn cold weather, we set out our trip. 
Litton Cheney was like a small world outside of the universe, as there is just one house after another several yards away, without a single petrol station, post office, super market, or even a little store. There is, fortunately, a bar, and that’s the paradise for all the local residence and visitors. “Pub” once meant “public health” in history, while here in this little town the word has been well illustrated. 
...
just like Christmas Father. 
as it is the destiny we once owned, but just donnot share...