many areas of life

There are many areas of life where the upside is far
greater than the downside. When I write an article, it
takes about 90 minutes of work. If nobody comments or
responds to that post, then I've just wasted 90 minutes.
However, if the article becomes popular, it can bring in
thousands of visitors to my website. Those thousands of
visitors translate into new readers who can get value
from the website. In addition, the extra traffic often
results in a higher monthly income for me.

the heels of his hands.

After some manipulation he managed to get the bunch between the heels of his mittened hands.
In this fashion he carried it to his mouth. The ice crackled and snapped when by a violent
effort he opened his mouth. He drew the lower jaw in, curled the upper lip out of the way,
and scraped the bunch with his upper teeth in order to separate a match. He succeeded in
getting one, which he dropped on his lap. He was no better off. He could not pick it up.
Then he devised a way. He picked it up in his teeth and scratched it on his leg. Twenty
times he scratched before he succeeded in lighting it. As it flamed he held it with his
teeth to the birch bark. But the burning brimstone went up his nostrils and into his lungs,
causing him to cough spasmodically. The match fell into the snow and went out.
The old-timer an Sulphur Creek was right, he thought in the moment of controlled despair
that ensued after fifty below, a man should travel with a partner. He beat his hands, but
failed in exciting any sensation. Suddenly he bared both hands, removing the mittens with
his teeth. He caught the whole bunch between the heels of his hands. His arm muscles not
being frozen enabled him to press the hand-heels tightly against the matches. Then he
scratched the bunch along his leg It flared into flame, seventy sulphur matches at once!
There was no wind to blow them out He kept his head to one side to escape the strangling
fumes, and held the blazing bunch to the birth bark. As he so held it, he became aware of
sensation in his hand. His flesh was burning. He could smell it. Deep down below the surface
he could feel it. The sensation developed into pain that grew acute. And still he endured,
it holding the flame of the matches clumsily to the bark that would not light readily
because his own burning hands were in the way, absorbing most of the flame.

first far-away signals

After a time he was aware of the first far-away signals of sensation in his beaten fingers. The faint tingling grew stronger till it evolved into a stinging ache that was excruciating, but which the man hailed with satisfaction. He stripped the mitten from his right hand and fetched forth the birch bark. The exposed fingers were quickly going numb again. Next he brought out his bunch of sulphur matches. But the tremendous cold had already driven the life out of his fingers. In his effort to separate one match from the others, the whole bunch fell in the snow. He tried to pick it out of the snow, but failed. The dead fingers could neither touch nor clutch. He was very careful. He drove the thought of his freezing feet, and nose, and cheeks, out of his mind, devoting his whole soul to the matches. He watched, using the sense of vision in place of that of touch, and when he saw his fingers on each side the bunch, he dosed them--that is, he willed to close them, for the wires were down, and the fingers did not obey. He pulled the mitten on the right hand and beat it fiercely against his knee. Then. with both mittened hands, he scooped the bunch of matches, along with much snow, into his lap. Yet he was no better off.

my memory as time

This event faded from my memory as time went by. One day after I came home from the countryside, I found the room stuffy and casually opened the window. Something outside caught my eye and dazzled me. It was a plum tree all scarlet with blossom set off beautifully by the sunset. The surprise discovery overwhelmed me with pleasure. I wondered why I had no idea of some unyielding life sprouting over the fallen petals when I was grieving for the hibiscus.
When the last withered petal dropped, all the joyful admiration for the hibiscus sank into oblivion as if nothing was left, until the landscape was again ablaze with the red plum blossom to remind people of life’s alternation and continuance. Can’t it be said that life is actually a symphony, a harmonious composition of loss and gain.
Standing by the window lost in thought for a long time, I realized that no scenery in the world remains unchanged. As long as you keep your heart basking in the sun, every dawn will present a fine prospect for you to unfold and the world will always be about new hopes.

slowed down to a walk

It struck him as curious that he could run at all on feet so frozen that he could not feel
them when they struck the earth and took the weigh. of his body. He seemed to himself to
skim along above the surface, and to have no connection with the earth. Somewhere he had
once seen a winged Mercury, and he wondered if Mercury felt as he felt when skimming over
the earth.
His theory of running until he reached camp and the boys had one flaw in it: he lacked the
endurance. Several times he stumbled, and finally he tottered, crumpled up, and fell. When
he tried to rise, he failed. He must sit and rest, he decided, and next time he would merely
walk and keep on going. As he sat and regained his breath, he noted that he was feeling
quite warm and comfortable He was not shivering, and it even seemed that a warm glow had
come to his chest and trunk. And yet, when he touched his nose or cheeks, there was no
sensation. Running would not thaw them out. Nor would it thaw out his hands and feet. Then
the thought came to him that the frozen portions of his body must be extending. He tried to
keep this thought down, to forget it, to think of something else; he was aware of the
panicky feeling that it caused, and he was afraid of the panic. But the thought asserted
itself, and persisted, until it produced a vision of his body totally frozen. This was too
much, and he made another wild run along the trail. Once he slowed down to a walk, but the
thought of the freezing extending itself made him run again.

a second time

And all the time the dog ran with him, at his heels. When he fell down a second time, it
curled its tad! over its forefeet and sat in front of him, facing him, curiously eager and
intent The warmth and security of the animal angered him, and he cursed it till it flattened
down its ears appealingly. This time the shivering came more quickly upon the man. He was
losing in his battle with the frost. It was creeping into his body from all sides. The
thought of it drove him on, but he ran no more than a hundred feet, when he staggered and
pitched headlong. It was his last panic. When he had recovered his breath and control, he
sat up and entertained in his mind the conception of meeting death with dignity. However,
the conception did not come to him in such terms. His idea of it was that he had been making
a fool of himself, running around like a chicken with its head cut off--such was the simile
that occurred to him. Well, he was bound to freeze anyway, and he might as well take it
decently. With this new-found peace of mind came the first glimmerings of drowsiness. A good
idea, he thought, to sleep off to death. It was like salting an anaesthetic. Freezing was
not so bad as people thought. There were lots worse ways to die.

flowers in the wind

From the window of my room, I could see a tall cotton-rose hibiscus. In spring, when green foliage was half hidden by mist, the tree looked very enchanting dotted with red blossom. This inspiring neighbor of mine often set my mind working. I gradually regarded it as my best friend.
Nevertheless, when I opened the window one morning, to my amazement, the tree was almost bare beyond recognition as a result of the storm ravages the night before. Struck by the plight, I was seized with a sadness at the thought “all the blossom is doomed to fall”. I could not help sighing with emotion: the course of life never runs smooth, for there are so many ups and downs, twists and turns. The vicissitudes of my life saw my beloved friends parting one after another. Isn’t it similar to the tree shedding its flowers in the wind?

the animal

The sight of the dog put a wild idea into his head. He remembered the tale of the man,
caught in a blizzard, who killed a steer and crawled inside the carcass, and so was saved.
He would kill the dog and bury his hands in the warm body until the numbness went out of
them. Then he could build another fire. He spoke to the dog, calling it to him; but in his
voice was a strange note of fear that frightened the animal, who had never known the man to
speak in such way before. Something was the matter, and its suspicious nature sensed danger
--it knew not what danger, but somewhere, somehow, in its brain arose an apprehension of the
man. It flattened its ears down at the sound of the man's voice, and its restless, hunching
movements and the liftings and shiftings of its forefeet became more pronounced; but it
would not come to the man. He got on his hands and knees and crawled toward the dog. This
unusual posture again excited suspicion, and the animal sidled mincingly away.

our lives change

As we go on, we rememberAll the times we had togetherAnd as our lives change, come whateverWe will still be friends forever
So if we get the big jobs and we make the big moneyWhen we look back nowWill our jokes still be funny?Will we still remember everything we learned in school?Still be trying to break every single rule?Will little brainy Bobby be the stockbroker man?Can we ever find a job that won't interfere with a tan?I keep, I keep thinking that it's not goodbyeKeep on thinking it's a time to flyAnd this is how it feels
Will we think about tomorrow like we think about now?Can we survive it out there?Can we make it somehow?I guess I thought that this would never endAnd suddenly it's like we're women and menWill the past be a shadow that will follow us 'round?Will these memories fade when I leave this town?I keep, I keep thinking that it's not goodbyeKeep on thinking it's a time to fly

feet would thaw

A certain fear of death, dull and oppressive, came to him. This fear quickly became poignant
as he realized that it was no longer a mere matter of freezing his fingers and toes, or of
losing his hands and feet, but that it was a matter of life and death with the chances
against him. This threw him into a panic, and he turned and ran up the creek-bed along the
old, dim trail. The dog joined in behind and kept up with him. He ran blindly, without
intention, in fear such as he had never known in his life. Slowly, as he plowed and
floundered through the snow, he began to see things again, the banks of the creek, the old
timber-jams, the leafless aspens, and the sky. The running made him feel better. He did not
shiver. Maybe, if he ran on, his feet would thaw out; and, anyway, if he ran far enough, he
would reach camp and the boys. Without doubt he would lose some fingers and toes and some of
his face; but the boys would take care of him, and save the rest of him when he got there.
And at the same time there was another thought in his mind that said he would never get to
the camp and the boys; that it was too many miles away, that the freezing had too great a
start on him, and that he would soon be stiff and dead. This thought he kept in the
background and refused to consider. Sometimes it pushed itself forward and demanded to be
heard, but he thrust it back and strove to think of other things.

rest of our livesWhere

And so we talked all night about the rest of our livesWhere we're gonna be when we turn 25I keep thinking times will never changeKeep on thinking things will always be the sameBut when we leave this year we won't be coming backNo more hanging out cause we're on a different trackAnd if you got something that you need to sayYou better say it right now cause you don't have another dayCause we're moving on and we can't slow downThese memories are playing like a film without soundAnd I keep thinking of that night in June I didn't know much of loveBut it came too soonAnd there was me and youAnd then we got real coolStay at home talking on the telephone with meWe'd get so excited, we'd get so scaredLaughing at ourselves thinking life's not fairAnd this is how it feels

her garden and grow old

She has earned her nursing degree through measles, chicken pox, mumps, pneumonia, polio, TB, fevers, stitches, flu, fractured arms and broken hearts.
At one time or another her closet held housedresses, feathered hats, white gloves, skirts with short hemlines and with long hemlines, pants suits, billowy dresses of chiffon, sheath dresses, a Sunday coat and the Christmas toys she ordered from the Sears catalog.
Her heart has known the ecstasy of a man's love, the joy of children, the heartbreak of their mistakes, the warmth of life's friendships, the celebration of weddings, the magnificent blessings of grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
Who can count the floors she scrubbed, the dinners she cooked, the birthday gifts she wrapped, the spelling words she listened to, the bedtime stories she read, the excuses she heard, the prayers she whispered to God each day?
Her arms have rocked generations of babies. Her hands have prepared countless "favorite" dishes. Her knees have knelt in prayer time and time again for those she loved. Her mouth has kissed owwies that hurt. Her back has bent to bathe dirty cowboys, pick up teens' clothes, gather flowers from her garden and grow old.
She has journeyed through life with its tears and laughter, watching yesterday's sunsets become tomorrow's sunrises of hope and promise. Because of her and the man who took her hand, family life and love continue through the generations.
When a mother blows out 75 candles, blessed are they who surround her with their love.

whined and struggled

The man sat up in the snow for a moment and struggled for calmness. Then he pulled on his
mittens, by means of his teeth, and got upon his feet. He glanced down at first in order to
assure himself that he was really standing up, for the absence of sensation in his feet left
him unrelated to the earth. His erect position in itself started to drive the webs of
suspicion from the dog's mind; and when he spoke peremptorily, with the sound of whiplashes
in his voice, the dog rendered its customary allegiance and came to him. As it came within
reaching distance, the man lost his control. His arms flashed out to the dog, and he
experienced genuine surprise when he discovered that his hands could not clutch, that there
was neither bend nor feeling in the fingers. He had forgotten for the moment that they were
frozen and that they were freezing more and more. All this happened quickly, and before the
animal could get away, he encircled its body with his arms. He sat down in the snow, and in
this fashion held the dog, while it snarled and whined and struggled.

tank of oxygen

She secretly hopes a tank of oxygen is one of her gifts.
Through the years she has hollered, said and prayed, "Jesus, Mary and Joseph, grant me patience!" 1,245,187 times.
Her hands have hung diapers on pulley clotheslines, sterilized bottles, carried babies from the third-floor apartment, ironed sunsuits and proudly pushed baby buggies.
She has peeled more potatoes than six marines on K.P. duty.
Her hair has been set in steel curlers, permed, rinsed with Nestle's coloring capsules, and styled in pageboys, the poodle look and the beehive hairdo; been permed again and turned silver.
The "parlor" was where she entertained company, the "pantry" held the groceries, the "icebox" held a pint of ice cream, and the "wringer washing machine" was hers to use on Tuesday.

his arms and sit

But it was all he could do, hold its body encircled in his arms and sit there. He realized
that he could not kill the dog. There was no way to do it. With his helpless hands he could
neither draw nor hold his sheath knife nor throttle the animal. He released it, and it
plunged wildly away, with tail between its legs, and still snarling. It halted forty feet
away and surveyed him curiously, with ears sharply pricked forward. The man looked down at
his hands in order to locate them, and found them hanging on the ends of his arms. It struck
him as curious that one should have to use his eyes in order to find out where his hands
were. He began threshing his arms back and forth, beating the mittened hands against his
sides. He did this for five minutes, violently, and his heart pumped enough blood up to the
surface to put a stop to his shivering. But no sensation was aroused in the hands. He had an
impression that they hung like weights on the ends of his arms, but when he tried to run the
impression down, he could not find it.

what seemed to him

pictured the boys finding his body next day. Suddenly he found himself with them, coming
along the trail and looking for himself. And, still with them, he came around a turn in the
trail and found himself lying in the snow. He did not belong with himself any more, for even
then he was out of himself, standing with the boys and looking at himself in the snow. It
certainly was cold, was his thought. When he got back to the States he could tell the folks
what real cold was He drifted on from this to a vision of the old-timer on Sulphur Creek He
could see him quite clearly, warm and comfortable, and smoking a pipe.
"You were right, old hoss; you were right," the man mumbled to the old-timer of Sulphur
Creek.
Then the man drowsed off into what seemed to him the most comfortable and satisfying sleep
he had ever known. The dog sat facing him and waiting. The brief day drew to a close in a
long, slow twilight. There were no signs of a fire to be made, and, besides, never in the
dog's experience had it known a man to sit like that in the snow and make no fire. As the
twilight drew on, its eager yearning for the fire mastered it, and with a great lifting and
shifting of forefeet, it whined softly, then flattened its ears down in anticipation of
being chidden by the man. But the man remained silent. Later, the dog whined loudly. And
still later it crept close to the man and caught the scent of death. This made the animal
bristle and back away. A little longer it delayed, howling under the stars that leaped and
danced and shone brightly in the cold sky. Then it turned and trotted up the trail in the
direction of the camp it knew, where were the other food-providers and fire-providers.

wistful eagerness

At last, when he could endure no more, he jerked his hands apart. The blazing matches fell
sizzling into the snow, but the birch bark was alight. He began laying dry grasses and the
tiniest twigs on the flame. He could not pick and choose, for he had to lift the fuel
between the heels of his hands. Small pieces of rotten wood and green moss clung to the
twigs, and he bit them off as well as he could with his teeth. He cherished the flame
carefully and awkwardly. It meant life, and it must not perish. The withdrawal of blood from
the surface of his body now made him begin to shiver, and he grew more awkward. A large
piece of green moss fell squarely on the little fire. He tried to poke it out with his
fingers, but his shivering frame made him poke too far and he disrupted the nucleus of the
little fire, the burning grasses and tiny twigs separating and scattering. He tried to poke
them together again, but in spite of the tenseness of the effort, his shivering got away
with him, and the twigs were hopelessly scattered. Each twig gushed a puff of smoke and went
out. The fire-provider had failed. As he looked apathetically about him, his eyes chanced on
the dog, sitting across the ruins of the fire from him, in the snow, making restless,
hunching movements, slightly lifting one forefoot and then the other, shifting its weight
back and forth on them with wistful eagerness.

shooflies

Sti'Tumma had always wanted to have beautiful beaded "shooflies" attached to her saddle, on the breastplate and under the horse's tummy on the cinch. She had already made a couple for her favorite bridle! The shooflies were made from a small amount of horsehair being folded in half, wrapped with buckskin, and beadwork put over the buckskin. The shoofly would then be clipped onto the favorite spot selected by each rider. So when the horses had their tails cleaned, the hair was saved for Sti'Tumma who then went to work to make herself some beautiful and colorful shooflies. Sometimes Gilly, Sti'Tumma's sister, would do the beadwork on a dozen shooflies at a time for the trail guides. The shooflies would move with the horse and keep some of the flies from settling on the horse!



It was a beautiful Saturday morning and time to get ready to meet the scheduled trail riders at the lake for the 20-mile ride through the beautiful countryside. Her nephew and youngest brother saddled her horse while she went to select the shooflies to attach to her saddle today. Across the breastplate she clipped six, on the cinch she clipped two, and on the rear of the saddle she clipped two. She stood back to take a good look, and said to herself, "Today both Zoomer and I will look good!"




At the lake she stayed on horseback due to the pain she was feeling in her back and neck; getting off and on would only make it worse. Today she wanted to be able to complete the ride to show off all her hard work on the beautiful and colorful shooflies. By wearing her new ribbon shirt, she looked elegant upon that gorgeous horse with all the beadwork showing on the shooflies. She met the riders, gathered the riding fees, which were placed in the beaded bag tied tight to her saddle, and even had some pictures taken of her and Zoomer!

household

In order to protect the tiger from the hunters' arrows and spears, the magistrate ordered a large copper pendent made to hang around the beast's neck. The words "Fu Chee" were engraved on the pendent meaning Tiger Son. To show her deep gratitude, Chen Ma knelt down in front of the magistrate and knocked her forehead three times. Then she led Fu Chee back to their home in the forest.


By next winter, Fu Chee had grown into his maximum size. Chen Ma's hut was in danger of collapsin


g whenever the tiger became playful. Reluctantly, she allowed Fu Chee to make his home inside a cave nearby.






However, the affectionate tiger came back to visit his adopted mother often, always bearing a gift in his mouth -- a dead deer or a large piece of tree branch. Also, he still liked to lick her shoes and to have his ears rubbed. Chen Ma's needs were being cared for just as if her natural son was still alive!




After Chen Ma died at the ripe old age past one hundred, the hunters noticed Fu Chee guarded her tomb nightly. They left him unmolested as he had never attacked any humans or domestic animals. This went on for a number of years and then one day the tiger was seen no more.





Out of deep respect and admiration for the filial tiger son, the hunters erected a small stone monument at Chen Ma's tomb with Fu Chee's story engraved on it. Henceforth, Fu Chee became a household legend in that part of Shanxi Province.

tears in her eyes

Chen Ma armed herself with her son's hunting spear and threatened to gut anyone who dared to harm her beloved pet.




"I've lost both husband and son. This tiger is the only companion I have now. I shall go to the magistrate and request to adopt him as my son."




The hunters thought the old woman had become mad and jeered at her. But since she was so determined, they dared not kill her tiger without the magistrate's permission. So they followed Chen Ma and her tiger all the way to the official's judgment hall.




"Venerable Mother," said the magistrate. "Your request is most unusual. Are you not afraid that some day the tiger might revert to his wild nature and devour you?"





"Honorable sir," replied the old widow with tears in her eyes. "What is there to fear? I have lived too long. The only worry I have now is being left utterly alone. Please let me adopt this young tiger, for he has become like a son in my affections."




The kindly magistrate did not have the heart to refuse such an ancient woman's pleading. So he had his assistant draw up a document for the tiger's adoption.