March 13, 2019
February 15, 2019
聽起來可能很神奇，但是的，鹽確實能讓你的脖子看起來更好。你可以把鹽和檸檬汁混合，或者加入薑黃粉做成頸部研磨膏。把它塗在脖子上不僅能去除死皮，撫平脖子上的皺紋，而且還能幫助你的下巴。每日化妝返工，其實放左工返到屋企都覺得累到想即刻訓覺。但係現實點都要即刻落妝洗臉…好想搵到一支卸妝水好用，卸哂粉底眼妝，最好唔洗煩連洗面乳都唔洗點用。卸妝水推介 THE CHOK CHOK綠茶免冲洗卸妝
January 18, 2019
August 26, 2016
I called her the day before her departure to wish her bon voyage. She was a wreck. She was completely behind on everything she needed to do. "And to top it all off," she lamented, "I bought some wonderful corms to plant for next spring. I'll never get them into the ground now!"
Well, I'll tell you, I can't bear the thought of an unplanted corm, bulb, seed plug, you name it. I always start too many seeds in March and by June I'm tucking them everywhere I can. I just can't bear the thought of a plant not getting a chance to grow. In other words, she was in luck.
"I'll plant them for you," I said.
"Oh, would you? You would do that?" Miriam was elated. She promised to set them out on the porch for me. I knew her garden well, as we have spent many hours together, toiling in each other's gardens. We quickly brainstormed some nice places for them to go. But then she said, "Oh, just put them wherever you think they'll look nice."
I arrived a couple of days later on a chilly autumn morning and spied a frost-covered paper bag on the back steps. With my trowel and bone meal in hand, I set off in search of just the right place to plant.
The corms were weird-looking - not the usual miniature, rootlike bulbs. I hadn't asked what kind they were when Miriam and I had last talked, but the two of us were always trying out new varieties of anything we could get our hands on. Being a consummate experimental gardener, there isn't a lot I won't try to plant and coax through our seemingly endless Minnesota winters. So I shrugged my shoulders and went to work. After a lot of digging, arranging, changing my
mind, digging some more and rearranging, I finally stood back from the patch of disturbed earth and nodded to myself in satisfaction. They were all planted in the perfect spot.
When Miriam got back a few months later, she and I went out to dinner to celebrate her return. At the restaurant we laughed about what a wreck she had been when she was trying to get out of town. And then she said, "You know, I still can't believe I forgot to put those corms out! What a ditz brain I am!"
I looked at her quizzically. "What do you mean? Of course you put them out. They were sitting on the porch in a paper bag, right where you said they'd be."
"No," she said, "they're still sitting on the counter where I left them."
Then an expression of dawning realization spread across her face. It held an odd combination of amusement and alarm.
"Valerie, I'm so sorry...."
"I'm truly sorry...."
She paused as if to prepare me for her news. Then she slowly said, "That was cat poop."
"Cat poop," she repeated. "I'm afraid I cleaned the litter box out before I left and forgot to put it in the garbage. I guess I must have left it on the back steps. You planted cat poop."
News like this doesn't sink in immediately. It sort of bounces around in your head and all you can hear are the echoes. Cat poop... cat poop....
Miriam looked at my face- and did the best she could to keep from laughing. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she pressed her lips tightly together. I usually have a good sense of humor. But I was too busy replaying the images of me picking these hard little corm-like kernels from a brown paper bag and lovingly planting them in Mother Earth's bosom. I took a long drink of my wine. I wasn't sure I could laugh about this.
Miriam managed to pull herself together. She cleared her throat and, sensing my state of shock, politely asked, "So, where did you plant them?"
"Uh, next to the catnip," I replied. The next thing I knew we both had collapsed into a fit of laughter. Much to my surprise, I was laughing. And it felt good. Very good.
Years have passed since then, and both our gardens and our friendship have continued to grow. That story has grown, too - to become one of our dearest bonds.
I guess, true to form, I really will try to plant just about anything.
August 12, 2016
It is as natural for ardent and courageous youth to wish to know what is in life, what it means, and what it holds for its children,as for a child to reach for and search the things that surround and attract it.Behind every real worker in the world is a real man, and a man has a right to know the conditions under which he must live,and the choices of knowledge, power, and activity which are offered him.In the education of many men and women, therefore, there comes the year of wandering;the experience of traveling from knowledge to knowledge and from occupation to occupation Implant.
The forces which go to the making of a powerful man can rarely be adjusted and blended without some disturbance of relations and conditions.This disturbance is sometimes injurious, because it affects the moral foundations upon which character rests;and for this reason the significance of the experience in its relation to development ought to be sympathetically studied.The birth of the imagination and of the passions, the perception of the richness of life,and the consciousness of the possession of the power to master and use that wealth, create a critical moment in the history of youth,—a moment richer in possibilities of all kinds than comes at any later period Teeth whitening.
Agitation and ferment of soul are inevitable in that wonderful moment.There are times when agitation is as normal as is self-control at other and less critical times.The year of wandering is not a manifestation of aimlessness, but of aspiration,and that in its ferment and uncertainty youth is often guided to and finally prepared for its task.
July 15, 2016
Success is boring. Success is proving that you can do something that you already know you can do, or doing something correctly the first time, which can often be a problematical victory. First-time success is usually a fluke. First-time failure, by contrast, is expected; it is the natural order of things sigelei 150w tc.
Failure is how we learn. I have been told of an African phrase describing a good cook as "she who has broken many pots." If you've spent enough time in the kitchen to have broken a lot of pots, probably you know a fair amount about cooking. I once had a late dinner with a group of chefs, and they spent time comparing knife wounds and burn scars. They knew how much credibility their failures gave them.
I earn my living by writing a daily newspaper column. Each week I am aware that one column is going to be the worst column of the week. I don't set out to write it; I try my best every day. Still, every week, one column is inferior to the others, sometimes spectacularly so aspire cleito.
I have learned to cherish that column. A successful column usually means that I am treading on familiar ground, going with the tricks that work, preaching to the choir or dressing up popular sentiments in fancy words. Often in my inferior columns, I am trying to pull off something I've never done before, something I'm not even sure can be done.
My younger daughter is a trapeze artist. She spent three years putting together an act. She did it successfully for years with the Cirque du Soleil. There was no reason for her to change the act—but she did anyway. She said she was no longer learning anything new and she was bored; and if she was bored, there was no point in subjecting her body to all that stress. So she changed the act. She risked failure and profound public embarrassment in order to feed her soul. And if she can do that 15 feet in the air, we all should be able to do it.
My granddaughter is a perfectionist, probably too much of one. She will feel her failures, and I will want to comfort her. But I will also, I hope, remind her of what she learned, and how she can do whatever it is better next time. I probably won't tell her that failure is a good thing, because that's not a lesson you can learn when you're five. I hope I can tell her, though, that it's not the end of the world. Indeed, with luck, it is the beginning melo 2 coils.
April 25, 2016
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