Quà tặng cuộc sống

Is Fire Goddess Spelled with Two Ds?When I was eight years old, I saw a movie about a mysterious island that had an erupting volcano and lush jungles filled with wild animals and cannibals. The island was ruled by a beautiful woman called "Tandaleah, the Fire Goddess of the Volcano." It was a terrible, low-budget movie, but to me it represented the perfect life. Being chased by molten lava, bloodthirsty animals and savages was a small price to pay for freedom. I desperately wanted to be the Fire Goddess. I wrote it on my list of "Things to Be When I Grow Up," and asked my girlfriend if "Fire Goddess" was spelled with two Ds.
Through the years, the school system did its best to mold me into a responsible, respectable citizen, and Tandaleah was forgot-ten. My parents approved of my suitable marriage, and I spent the next twenty-five years being a good wife, eventually the mother of four and a very respectable, responsible member of society. My life was as bland and boring as a bowl of oatmeal. I knew exactly what to expect in the future: The children would grow up and leave home, my husband and I would grow old together and we''d baby-sit the grandchildren.
The week I turned fifty my marriage came to a sudden end. My house, furniture and everything I''d owned was auctioned off to pay debts I didn''t even know existed. In a week I''d lost my husband, my home and my parents, who refused to accept a divorce in the family. I''d lost everything except my four teenaged children. I had enough money to rent a cheap apartment while I looked for a job. Or I could use every penny I had to buy five plane tickets from Missouri to the most remote island in the world, the Big Island of Hawaii. Everyone said I was crazy to think I could just run off to an island and survive. They predicted I''d come crawling back in a month. Part of me was afraid they were right. The next day, my four children and I landed on the Big Island of Hawaii with less than two thousand dollars, knowing no one in the world was going to help us. I rented an unfurnished apartment where we slept on the floor and lived on cereal. I worked three jobs scrubbing floors on my hands and knees, selling macadamia nuts to tourists and gathering coconuts. I worked eighteen hours a day and lost thirty pounds because I lived on one meal a day. I had panic attacks that left me curled into a knot on the bathroom floor, shaking like a shell-shocked soldier.
One night, as I walked alone on the beach, I saw the red-orange glow of the lava pouring out of the Kilauea volcano in the distance. I was wading in the Pacific Ocean, watching the world''s most active volcano and wasting that incredible moment because I was haunted by the past, exhausted by the present and terrified of the future. I''d almost achieved my childhood dream-but hadn''t realized it because I was focused on my burdens instead of my blessings. It was time to live my imagination-not my history.
Tandaleah, the Fire Goddess of the Volcano, had finally arrived! The next day I quit my jobs and invested my last paycheck in art supplies and began doing what I loved. I hadn''t painted a picture in fifteen years because we''d barely scratched out a living on the farm in Missouri and there hadn''t been money for the tubes of paint and canvas and frames. I wondered if I could still paint or if I''d forgotten how. My hands trembled the first time I picked up a brush, but before an hour had passed I was lost in the colors spreading across the canvas in front of me. I painted pictures of old sailing ships, and as soon as I started believing in myself, other people started believing in me, too. My first painting sold for fifteen hundred dollars before I even had time to frame it.
The past six years have been filled with adventures: My children and I have gone swimming with dolphins, watched whales and hiked around the crater rim of the volcano. We wake up every morning with the ocean in front of us and the volcano behind us. The dream I''d had more than forty years ago is now reality. I live on an island with a continuously erupting volcano. The only animals in the jungle are wild boars and mongooses and there aren''t any cannibals, but often in the evening, I can hear the drums from native dancers on the beach. Well-meaning friends have tried countless times to introduce me to their uncles, neighbors, fathers and even grandfathers, hoping I''d find a mate to save me from a lonely old age. They use phrases like, "A woman of your age . . ." and "You aren''t getting any younger . . ." to push me into blind dates.
I gently point out that "a woman my age" has paid her dues. I enjoyed being a wife and mother and believe in my heart that I was a good one. I did that job for over a quarter of a century. And now at my age, I have grown into the woman I wish I could have been when I was in my twenties. No, I''m not getting any younger, but neither is anyone else, and honestly, I wouldn''t want to be young again. I''m happier than I''ve ever been. I can paint all night and sleep all day without feeling guilty. I can cook or not cook. I can live on cream puffs and Pepsi for a week at a time and no one will lecture me on the importance of a balanced diet.
It took a long time to find myself, and I had to live alone to do it. But I am not lonely. I am free for the first time in my life. I am Tandaleah, the Fire Goddess of the Volcano, spelled with two Ds and I''m living happily ever after.
Linda Stafford
Excerpt from Chicken Soup for the Single''s Soul
Life is a comedy

Just A Few More Minutes...
"Just a few more minutesõ?Ưplease Mommy!"
Although my own children were grown, I found myself turning instinctively in the direction of the little voice. He was trailing after his mother, looking reluctantly over his shoulder at a display of remote control toys in the large department store.
He couldn''t have been more than four years old. With chubby checks and wispy blond hair going in several directions, he trotted behind his mother down the main aisle of the department store. His boots caught my eye. They were green. Really green. Bright, shiny, Kermit-the-Frog, green. Obviously new and a little too big, the boots stopped just below his knees leaving a hint of dimpled legs disappearing into rumpled shorts. Perfect boots for the rainy transition from summer to fall.
He stopped abruptly at a display of full-length mirrors, lifting one foot at a time, grinning and admiring his boots until his mother called for him to catch up to her. Dressed in a suit, heels clicking on the tile floor, she was tossing items into her cart as she and her son made their way to the checkout lanes at the front of the store.
I smiled at the picture he made clumping noisily behind his mother. I found myself wondering if she had just picked him up from daycare after a busy day in an office somewhere. I sighed as I selected an item and put it in my own cart. My days of trying to juggle a full time job and two small children had been busy, sometimes even hectic, but I missed them.
Finishing my own shopping, I forgot about the little boy and his mother until I stepped outside the store. There a panorama unfolded before me. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, perforating the numerous puddles in the parking lot. Several mothers with their small children were hurrying in and out of the department store. The children were, of course, making beelines to the puddles that dotted their way from the cars to the store''s entrance. The mothers were right behind them, scolding.
"Get away from that puddle!"
"You''ll ruin your shoes!"
"What''s the matter with you? Are you deaf? I said, GET OUT OF THAT PUDDLE!"
And so it continued. The children were being pulled away from the puddles and hurried along. All except for oneõ?Ưthe little green-booted boy.
He and his mother were not rushing anywhere. The boy was happily splashing away in the largest puddle in the parking lot, oblivious to the rain and to the people coming and going. His wispy hair was plastered to his head and a huge smile was plastered on his face. And his mother? She put up her umbrella, adjusted her packages and waited. Not scolding, not rushing. Just watching.
As she fished her car keys out of her purse, the boy, hearing the familiar jingling, paused in mid-splash and looked up.
"Just a few more minutes? Please Mommy?" He begged.
She hesitated, and then she smiled at him.
"Okay!" she responded and adjusted her packages again.
By the time I got to my car, loaded my packages and was ready to ease out of my parking space, the green-booted boy and his mother were walking toward their car, smiling and talking.
How much time did that "few more minutes" take out of her day? Probably about five. Not so much time out of a busy day. So what if she got home a little later than she had planned?
What a contrast the boy and his mother were to the other families I had just seen. What volumes that "few more minutes" spoke to that little boy about his value to his mother. Nothing in her universe was so pressing that it couldn''t wait a few more minutes to let her young son try out his new boots-an important event in the life of any four-year-old.
How many times had my children begged for "just a few more minutes"? Had I smiled and waited like the mother of the green booted boy? Or had I scolded?
Just a few more minutes of giggling and splashing in the bathtub. So what if bedtime got pushed back a little?
Just a few more minutes of rocking a sleepy toddler. So what if toys were strewn around the room, littering the floor?
Just a few more minutes of tossing a baseball to a budding first baseman. So what if dinner was a little late?
Just a few more minutes of playing dolls. So what if the work I brought home was still sitting on the table?
Just a few more minutes of catching fireflies on a lazy summer evening. So what if that certain TV show was on?
Just a few more minutes of life with them before they were grown and gone. So what if my career goals didn''t fit my original timeline?
Just a few more minutes. Everything I have read about time management for working mothers can be summed up in one picture. The picture of that young mother standing under her umbrella, arms full of packages, smiling her assent to a wet, green-booted boy who had asked her the universal time management question for working mothers everywhere,
"Just a few more minutes?"
Sara Henderson
Reprinted by permission of Sara Lynn Henderson. â2001 Sara Lynn Henderson
Life is a comedy

A Pocket Full of Quarters
by Anne C. Washburn
Searra, an eight-year-old brain tumor patient, was a "regular" in the Radiation Oncology Department, much like the other patients who came to the cancer center everyday for a five- or six-week period. With my office located near the main entrance, I could hear Searra, also called CC, coming from a distance.
Sure enough, she popped her head in every morning around 10:00 A.M. to say "hi" or, more important, to check out the toys and coloring materials I had stashed in my office. Several steps behind, CC''s grandmother, also called Mommie, since she served as her guardian, would trail in as she tried keeping up with CC''s anxious pace.
CC was not the least bit interested in hearing more about her cancer or her hair loss. When she walked into the department, it was time to socialize with the staff, who became her instant friends, and to see what kind of masterpiece she could color for Mommie before she was called back for her treatment.
I was taken aback by the love CC had for Mommie. Whenever I asked her about home life, school work or how she was feeling, every response referred to her time spent with Mommie, the funny stories they shared and how much she loved her. On numerous occasions, CC made it clear that Mommie was the center of her world.
When CC was first treated with radiation therapy, the therapists told her that they would give her a quarter each day if she promised to keep her head still on the treatment table. Certainly, after six weeks of therapy, she had a pocketful of quarters! So on the last day, the therapists wanted to know what big toy she was going to buy with all her change. CC replied, "Oh, I am not going to buy a toy. I am going to buy something for Mommie because of all the nice things she does for me."
CC''s sincerity, unselfishness, warmth and loyalty to Mommie taught me about what is really important in life. She constantly showed that loving others with true commitment is the best gift you can give another-whether a family member or a friend. Certainly, CC has an excuse to complain or be angry at the world for a childhood totally different from the other children''s in her third-grade class. I have never heard her complain about her bald head, swollen face and body (as a result of the steroids), or low energy level, which keeps her from playing outside. CC continues to live her life the way she chooses, and that includes giving of herself to make the world a better place for others, especially Mommie.
CC reminds me to not take those people I love for granted and to look beyond the superficiality that is often found in day-to-day living. I am reminded to be more thankful for what I have today and to not dwell on what is behind me or what lies ahead. CC, just like many other cancer patients, is a true example that we aren''t always dealt the perfect hand, so we have to make the best of what we have today
Life is a comedy

Răng toàn tiếng Tây ri hè, đọc xong rồi (đọc từng chữ đó mà) nhưng không hiểu. Please translate to Vietnamese.
RC

Ai em tu! flower cả mắt .

Hẹn với bác Rec qua ngày chủ nhật nhé, hôm nay em đã dich xong câu chuyện cuối, thế mà lại mất sạch. Đúng là cái tật chủ quan khó sửa, làm mất cả hứng. Đúng là Ngu thì chết chứ bệnh tật gì
Life is a comedy

- Thực ra tớ cũng hiểu sơ sơ mấy bài của Bác (gái) post lên. Nhưng vẫn muốn có bải Copy in Vietnamese cho dễ hiểu với tình hình chung của Box. Những bài viết mà bản gốc không phải Tiếng Việt thì nên có bản Foreign Language đi kèm sẽ tốt hơn (vì có nhiều cách Translate khác nhau mà). Tớ cũng nhận được mấy mẫu chuyện write in English từ mấy người bạn, muốn post lên nhưng bản Translation của tớ not very well. Tuần sau sẽ Trying coi thế nào nghe.
- Sao lại rũa bản thân như vậy, cái đó mà quà tặng cuộc sống được a! Bác làm thế, tớ thấy áy náy quá - vì quote từ yêu cầu của tớ mà.
Cheers!
RC

Hehe, bác không thấy em có cười đó à? Đùa rứa thôi, quà tặng của cuộc sống là tất cả những gì chúng ta đang có, kể cả những niềm vui, nỗi buồn, thành công hay sai lầm, đúng ko?
Mong bác ko đang sai lầm (cái ni em hơi riêng tư một tí, mấy bác trong box lượng thứ nhé)
Life is a comedy

I LOVE YOU MOREõ?Ư
It all began as we were standing in front of the bathroom mirror, me fixing Amanda''s fine, blonde hair. I was putting in the final elastic of a spunky pair of ponytails and finished with, "I love you, Amanda." "And, I love you," she replied. "Oh, yeah," I taunted. "Well, I love you more." Her eyes lit up as she recognized the cue for the start of another "I love you more" match. "Nuh-uh," she laughed, "I love you the most." "I love you bigger than a volcano!" I countered-a favorite family phrase in these battles of love. "But, Mom, I love you from here to China." A country she''s learning about thanks to our new neighbors up the street.usually
We volleyed back and forth a few favorite lines. "I love you more than peanut butter." "Well, I love you more than television." "I even love you more than bubble gum." It was my turn again, and I made the move that usually brings victory. "Too bad chickadee. I love you bigger than the universe!" On this day, however, Amanda was not going to give up. I could see she was thinking. "Mom," she said in a quiet voice, "I love you more than myself."
I stopped. Dumbfounded. Overwhelmed by her sincerity. Here I thought that I knew more than she did. I thought I knew at least everything that she knew. But I didn''t know this. My four-year-old daughter knows more about love than her twenty-eight-year-old mom. And somehow she loves me more than herself.
Christie A. Hansen
Contributing author, Chicken Soup for the Soul Photo''s for Mom''s

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Life is a comedy