A house without books is like a room without windows. No man has a right to bring up his children without surrounding them with books, if he has the means to buy them.
A house without books is like a room without windows. No man has a right to bring up his children without surrounding them with books, if he has the means to buy them.
The bag of assorted candies was ready, and I’d been looking forward to visits from pint-sized goblins. But Halloween morning, my arthritis flared up, and by evening, I could barely move. I couldn’t possibly answer each knock on the door to distribute the goodies, so I decided to fasten the candy bag to the door and watch the parade of trick-or-treaters from my darkened living room. Continue reading “A Jelly Bean for Halloween”
The situation seemed hopeless.
From the first day he entered my junior-high classroom, Willard P. Franklin existed in his own world, shutting out his classmates and me, his teacher. My attempts at establishing a friendly relationship with him were met with complete indifference. Even a “Good morning, Willard” received only an inaudible grunt. I could see that his classmates fared no better. Willard was strictly a loner who seemed to have no desire or need to break his barrier of silence. Continue reading “A silent voice”
Once upon a time there was a woman who had three dogs. One of them was elderly. The other not so much. The third was a fidgety puppy, always running around.
They all belonged to the same breed. Don’t ask me which, because I’m very ignorant about makes of dogs and breeds of cars – pardon! – breeds of dogs and makes of cars. Continue reading “Believe me”
I spend part of my summer in the Chausey archipelago off the west coast of France. In winter, it is inhabited only by sea birds and rats and half a dozen men; in summer, by herds of holiday-makers and boating people. Continue reading “Another Level of Consciousness”
When I arrived in the city to present a seminar on Tough-Minded Management, a small group of people took me to dinner to brief me on the people I would talk to the next day.
The obvious leader of the group was Big Ed, a large burly man with a deep rumbling voice. At dinner he informed me that he was a troubleshooter for a huge international organization. His job was to go into certain divisions or subsidiaries to terminate the employment of the executive in charge. Continue reading “Big Ed”
A weekend job for extra pocket money might be fun – but what about working in a dangerous factory, heaving rocks for hours without resting, or digging in stinking rubbish for scraps to sell?
Millions of children have to work like this every day. Continue reading “Child Labour”
I had rarely seen an early November day as mild as that one. It was as though God had decided to grace those of us living in Michigan’s snow belt with a special gift of balmy temperatures and gentle breezes before winter’s descent. My friend Rick and I were walking the country road near my home, taking in the harvested corn and the autumn leaves still clinging to the trees. Continue reading “Heaven on Earth”
There’s nothing old-fashioned in trying to behave with dignity in your relationships with the opposite sex. Your body is neither an object nor a mechanism that you cannot control.
In a relationship, affection is much more important than sex. Continue reading “Open Letter to a Youngster”
They huddled inside the storm door—two children in ragged outgrown coats.
“Any old papers, lady?” I was busy. I wanted to say no—until I looked down at their feet. Thin little sandals, sopped with sleet. Continue reading “Lady, are you rich?”
I was dangling my legs in the pool when Linda swam up and blocked me. Something about Linda always made me a little uncomfortable. I wanted her to like me, mostly because none of my classmates lived close enough to hang out after school. Linda lived only two houses down from mine. But this warm spring afternoon, her words made me shiver. Continue reading “I Can’t Believe I Did That”
Nearby, there was a flower exhibition. Natural flowers, I must say. Nor would it make any sense, if it was an exhibition of plastic flowers. Or of cloth flowers. Or of paper flowers. Or of flowers on paintings. Continue reading “A Flower Exhibition”
A wall in ruins asked me to tell its story.
What can possibly be told about a mossy and ivy-claded wall, bordering a pathway of almost no use?
At one end of the wall there is half a stone arch, suggesting the use of a door or gate of yesteryear. At the other end, an upright stone marks the corner around which only a few loose stones witness the former existence of part of a house, which used to meet the old wall there. Continue reading “A Storyless Wall”
There is a quilt on every bed in my grandmother’s battered farmhouse. Most of the patchwork blankets are generations old. Their bindings sport holes of wear. Newer quilts flaunt their fresh, rich colors in Grandma’s room. My first attempt at quilting hangs on her wall. The colors are bright, but the shapes are ever-so-slightly askew. Nevertheless, every uneven stitch holds meaning. Each crooked patch tells a story. Continue reading “A Quilted Life”
Several years ago, a physician from southern France contacted me. His granddaughter had taken ill with a disease that baffled the physicians there. He called after reading several of my articles on disorders of the autonomic nervous system. Continue reading “It should once again see light”
“Mommy, I got something for you!” Cody ran through the door after school. His face wore the biggest smile ever. He waved something above his head. “It’s a pen. But not just any pen. It’s a lucky pen!” Continue reading “Lucky Pen”
Sharifa and I were classmates in 1998 at the university for Afghan refugees in Peshawar, and at the time we both lived in a crowded neighbourhood populated mainly by Afghan refugees fleeing the Taliban’s occupation of Afghanistan. She was the oldest of six daughters who had been born with only one-year gaps between them all. Continue reading “Sharifa’s Story”
Until I was eight I thought Sunday was called Sunday because you had to spend it in the sun. I thought that because I spent every single Sunday outside in the garden with Nana.
The zucchini plants quickly became my favorite. It was the way the tiny little delicate tendrils reached out and wrapped around the lattice, like tiny fingers holding on as tightly as they could. Continue reading “I Will Remember”
From the age of eight, I had yearned for a father. When I was seventeen, my mother married again and I expected this man, Steve, to be a poor father like his predecessors. But I was wrong.
The walls I had built to protect my heart did not come down easily, and this time, my new “father” did not attempt to tear them down. Instead, little by little, he weakened them with patient and loving kindness. Continue reading “A Real Dad”
He was a brand new soap, newly-made, never used before. He had never taken a bath before.
Inside the drawer of that drugstore where he, together with many others, was waiting to be sold, he had already asked, very timidly:
“What am I good for, anyway?” Continue reading “A Soap’s Life”
The ball pinged off the aluminum bat and headed toward the hole between shortstop and third base, the sort of one-hop screamer that the high-school junior shortstop, my son Chris, had backhanded a thousand times.
Only this time, the ball hit a pebble and caromed weirdly toward his head. With a sickening crunch, the ball caught him flush in his left eye, and he went down in a heap. Bad hop, and a bad break. Continue reading “Bad Hop”
Everybody can be great . . . because anybody can serve. You don’t have to have a college degree to serve. You don’t have to make your subject and verb agree to serve. You only need a heart full of grace. A soul generated by love.
Martin Luther King, Jr.
Mark was walking home from school one day when he noticed the boy ahead of him had tripped and dropped all of the books he was carrying, along with two sweaters, a baseball bat, a glove and a small tape recorder. Continue reading “A Simple Gesture”
I’m a teacher. But there are days, like today, when I wonder why. It’s been a tough day. The results of an English quiz taken by my fifth-graders were dismal. Despite my best efforts, the world of pronouns remains a mystery to them. How I wish there is a way to make the study of our language as exciting as a computer game, so the glazed looks would not appear in their eyes at the mention of the word “grammar.” Continue reading “Promises To Keep”
This was my first birthday away from home, and I missed my mom, my sister, and most certainly the special cake my mother always made for my birthday. Since getting to college that year, I would watch jealously as the other freshmen received packages from their parents on their birthdays – and even on ordinary days. Instead of feeling thrilled about my coming eighteenth birthday, I felt empty. I wished my mom would send me something, too, but I knew that she couldn’t afford presents or the postage. She had done her best with my sister and me – raising us by herself. The simple truth was, there just was never enough money. Continue reading “To Be Really Rich”
We spend a lot of time looking for happiness when the world right around us is full of wonder. To be alive and walk on the Earth is a miracle, and yet most of us are running as if there were some better place to get to. There is beauty calling to us every day, every hour, but we are rarely in a position to listen. The basic condition for us to be able to hear the call of beauty and respond to it is silence. If we don’t have silence in ourselves—if our mind, our body, are full of noise—then we can’t hear beauty’s call. There’s a radio playing in our head, Radio Station NST: Non-Stop Thinking. Our mind is filled with noise, and that’s why we can’t hear the call of life, the call of love. Our heart is calling us, but we don’t hear. We don’t have the time to listen to our heart. Continue reading “Silence – The Power of Quiet in a World Full of Noise”
Once upon a time, there were shops on Earth which sold pink words and shops which sold grey words. The former sold words such as I love you, I think of you, Thank you very much, If you please…The latter sold words such as Sillyhead, Bugger off, Shut up…
In those days, pink words were much more in demand than grey words. Pink word sellers made big profits and there was always a sweet scent around the Earth. Grey word sellers seldom had customers, and only when there were big quarrels. Continue reading “Pink Words and Grey Words”
This is a true story. It happened in France after World War I where a whole village had been destroyed by the fighting.
Marie woke with a start to inky blackness and the familiar smell of dirt. Her small body shivered from the damp cold. As she roused herself to rearrange her rough bed of rags and burlap on the dirt floor, the nightmare that had jolted her from sleep closed around her head like a dark cloud. She had been having that nightmare every night. Continue reading “The house that love built”
Words of advice to high school seniors preparing to embark on the infamous college journey: Have no fear. Worst case scenario, you end up sitting on the stoop of a grand, New England building, drunk off cheap beer, crying about a boy while listening to Joni Mitchell on your iPod. Continue reading “Have No Fear”
From an early age, I was told not to make the same mistakes as my mother. She hadn’t had an easy life since getting pregnant with me at seventeen, and she always blamed me for her failures. Unable to care for me, my grandparents took me in at six weeks of age and raised me as their daughter. I excelled in school and took pleasure in being on the track team, part of Camp Fire and attending ballet classes. I had a great relationship with my grandparents. Then, in eighth grade, I discovered that staying out late with my friends was more fun than going home. Continue reading “A Change for the Better”
Her skin was the color of rich, hot chocolate and her brown eyes twinkled with intelligence and humor. Her name was Michelle and she spent her days in a purple wheelchair because she had been born with Cerebral Palsy. She rolled into my classroom — and my heart—when she was just three years old. Her courage was an inspiration to me and her spirit touched my heart. Continue reading “Flying a Kite”
I had been a blood donor for years, but never had I been an apheresis donor of platelets. I had lots of excuses for not doing so, including, “It takes too long,” and “It looks uncomfortable.” Continue reading “But for God’s grace”
Someone called it my “midlife crisis.” Personally, I think it was just a string of rotten luck, including horrendous income changes, my son’s poor health winging its way into its sixteenth straight month, medical bills that could choke a buffalo, bewilderment following cross words with two of my grown children, the empty-nest syndrome looming just months away when my youngest would be leaving for college eighteen hundred miles away, daily lower back pain due to lack of exercise, arguments with a woman in Texas over a book we were coauthoring and the fact that I’d only seen the sun for about twenty-six hours all winter. Continue reading “Big Problems, Little Miracles”
I awoke to the sound of my clock. It was 7:00 A.M. My bed felt like it was made of bricks, but my body wouldn’t move. I knew I had to get to school. Continue reading “Before and After”
My teacher, Miss Wallace, stood beside the bench in the science lab. She held a beaker in one hand as she explained the procedures of a chemistry experiment to a small group of students. I leaned against the bench and focused my attention on her hand as it moved towards another beaker filled with an acidic liquid. Continue reading “Ginger Beer”
The telephone rang. It was my sister. She said, “Just thought I’d let you know I used your crayon story again.” My sister is the media specialist in an elementary school. Every now and then, she will tell my story to the students who visit her library. Continue reading “Crayon Crisis”
When I was little, I used to think my dad raked the maple leaves into a big pile so that we kids could dive into it and play. In those days, I thought the wheelbarrow that accompanied him to the back garden was meant for the rides he gave us back to the house. His flower garden at the side of the house was his special place of refuge—and it was there that his soul brushed mine to forever bond. Continue reading “Daddy’s Garden”
When I was six or seven years old, I would go up to my parents and say, “Mommy! Daddy! I want to be just like that person when I’m all grown up!” My parents would just look down at me and smile. My mom would always say, “Do what you think will make you happy.” I always tried to stay true to that, but as I got older, I decided that I wanted to be something else. When you find something that you truly want to be, but people around you think that you are not capable of doing it, it hurts. Continue reading “Stay True To Yourself and Your Dreams”
Against my better judgment, I visited the cat room at the shelter. Given free rein, I would have filled my pockets with kittens. Our cat Abby had recently died. I saw how much my husband John missed her. Continue reading “Better than Medicine”
Grunt, creek, creek… grunt, creek, creek…
My legs swung back and forth. I was using all of my strength to get that swing into the heavens. It seemed impossible.
“Mom, can you give me another push?” I whimpered.
“Are you kidding me?! You can do it. Just focus and keep pumping your legs.” Continue reading “Thank you for not pushing”
When we can stop judging and start appreciating people differences,only then can we begin to learn from them.
For some reason, I was not very good in school. English and Math were my worst two subjects. There was just something wrong with me, inside my head. No matter how hard I tried, I just could not figure out why I didn’t understand what all the other kids found so easy to learn. I do not think there was ever a day that I went to school that I was not afraid. Continue reading “A D-Minus”
I was a freshman in college when I met the Whites. They were completely different from my own family, yet I felt at home with them instantly. Jane White and I became friends at school, and her family welcomed me, an outsider, like a long lost cousin. Continue reading “Blameless”
I wish I could take back my first kiss. I wish that it hadn’t been out of spite and jealous revenge. I wish that I hadn’t been stupid and drank that night. I wish for a lot of things, but most of all, I wish that I had dealt with everything differently, so I wouldn’t be stuck with this memory. Continue reading “Regretting my first kiss”
I had just turned twelve when I realized I wasn’t young enough to be a carefree kid anymore but also not old enough to be a “cool” teenager. I was also unlucky enough to be a twelve-year-old with thick glasses and orthodontic braces. In spite of the “four eyes” and “metal mouth” name-calling I had to endure, my mother insisted these temporary impediments would all be worth it someday. She reminded me of Hans Christian Andersen’s story, The Ugly Duckling, to make her point. Continue reading “Beauty Is as Beauty Does”