Happy New Year to you,
And when the new year’s done,
May the next year be even better,
Full of pleasure, joy and fun.
Sincerely,
Yevgeniya Gennadyevna
More New Year Cards at GoodLightscraps
пятница, 31 декабря 2010 г.
Happy New Year !!
Dear friends,
Happy New Year to you,
And when the new year’s done,
May the next year be even better,
Full of pleasure, joy and fun.
Sincerely,
Yevgeniya Gennadyevna
More New Year Cards at GoodLightscraps
Happy New Year to you,
And when the new year’s done,
May the next year be even better,
Full of pleasure, joy and fun.
Sincerely,
Yevgeniya Gennadyevna
More New Year Cards at GoodLightscraps
четверг, 30 декабря 2010 г.
Christmas Everyday
Story written by W. D. Howells
The little girl came into her papa’s study, as she always did Saturday morning before breakfast, and asked for a story. He tried to beg off that morning, for he was very busy, but she would not let him. So he began:
“Well, once there was a little pig—”
She put her hand over his mouth and stopped him at the word. She said she had heard little pig-stories till she was perfectly sick of them.
“Well, what kind of story shall I tell, then?”
“About Christmas. It’s getting to be the season. It’s past Thanksgiving already.”[Pg 4]
“It seems to me,” her papa argued, “that I’ve told as often about Christmas as I have about little pigs.”
“No difference! Christmas is more interesting.”
“Well!” Her papa roused himself from his writing by a great effort. “Well, then, I’ll tell you about the little girl that wanted it Christmas every day in the year. How would you like that?”
“First-rate!” said the little girl; and she nestled into comfortable shape in his lap, ready for listening.
“Very well, then, this little pig—Oh, what are you pounding me for?”
“Because you said little pig instead of little girl.”
“I should like to know what’s the difference between a little pig and a little girl that wanted it Christmas every day!”
“Papa,” said the little girl, warningly, “if you don’t go on, I’ll give it to you!” And at this her papa darted off[Pg 5] like lightning, and began to tell the story as fast as he could.
Well, once there was a little girl who liked Christmas so much that she wanted it to be Christmas every day in the year; and as soon as Thanksgiving was over she began to send postal-cards to the old Christmas Fairy to ask if she mightn’t have it. But the old fairy never answered any of the postals; and after a while the little girl found out that the Fairy was pretty particular, and wouldn’t notice anything but letters—not even correspondence cards in envelopes; but real letters on sheets of paper, and sealed outside with a monogram—or your initial, anyway. So, then, she began to send her letters; and in about three weeks—or just the day before Christmas, it was—she got a letter from the Fairy, saying she might have it Christmas every day for a year, and then they would see about having it longer.[Pg 6]
The little girl was a good deal excited already, preparing for the old-fashioned, once-a-year Christmas that was coming the next day, and perhaps the Fairy’s promise didn’t make such an impression on her as it would have made at some other time. She just resolved to keep it to herself, and surprise everybody with it as it kept coming true; and then it slipped out of her mind altogether.
She had a splendid Christmas. She went to bed early, so as to let Santa Claus have a chance at the stockings, and in the morning she was up the first of anybody and went and felt them, and found hers all lumpy with packages of candy, and oranges and grapes, and pocket-books and rubber balls, and all kinds of small presents, and her big brother’s with nothing but the tongs in them, and her young lady sister’s with a new silk umbrella, and her papa’s and mamma’s with potatoes and pieces of coal wrapped up in tissue-paper, just as they[Pg 7] always had every Christmas. Then she waited around till the rest of the family were up, and she was the first to burst into the library, when the doors were opened, and look at the large presents laid out on the library-table—books, and portfolios, and boxes of stationery, and breastpins, and dolls, and little stoves, and dozens of handkerchiefs, and ink-stands, and skates, and snow-shovels, and photograph-frames, and little easels, and boxes of water-colors, and Turkish
paste, and nougat, and candied cherries, and dolls’ houses, and waterproofs—and the big Christmas-tree, lighted and standing in a waste-basket in the middle.
She had a splendid Christmas all day. She ate so much candy that she did not want any breakfast; and the whole forenoon the presents kept pouring in that the expressman had not had time to deliver the night before; and she went round giving the presents she had got for other people, and came home and ate[Pg 8] turkey and cranberry for dinner, and plum-pudding and nuts and raisins and oranges and more candy, and then went out and coasted, and came in with a stomach-ache, crying; and her papa said he would see if his house was turned into that sort of fool’s paradise another year; and they had a light supper, and pretty early everybody went to bed cross.
Here the little girl pounded her papa in the back, again.
“Well, what now? Did I say pigs?”
“You made them act like pigs.”
“Well, didn’t they?”
“No matter; you oughtn’t to put it into a story.”
“Very well, then, I’ll take it all out.”
Her father went on:
The little girl slept very heavily, and she slept very late, but she was wakened at last by the other children dancing[Pg 9] round her bed with their stockings full of presents in their hands.
“What is it?” said the little girl, and she rubbed her eyes and tried to rise up in bed.
“Christmas! Christmas! Christmas!” they all shouted, and waved their stockings.
“Nonsense! It was Christmas yesterday.”
Her brothers and sisters just laughed. “We don’t know about that. It’s Christmas to-day, anyway. You come into the library and see.”
Then all at once it flashed on the little girl that the Fairy was keeping her promise, and her year of Christmases was beginning. She was dreadfully sleepy, but she sprang up like a lark—a lark that had overeaten itself and gone to bed cross—and darted into the library. There it was again! Books, and portfolios, and boxes of stationery, and breastpins—
[Pg 10]
“You needn’t go over it all, papa; I guess I can remember just what was there,” said the little girl.
Well, and there was the Christmas-tree blazing away, and the family picking out their presents, but looking pretty sleepy, and her father perfectly puzzled, and her mother ready to cry. “I’m sure I don’t see how I’m to dispose of all these things,” said her mother, and her father said it seemed to him they had had something just like it the day before, but he supposed he must have dreamed it. This struck the little girl as the best kind of a joke; and so she ate so much candy she didn’t want any breakfast, and went round carrying presents, and had turkey and cranberry for dinner, and then went out and coasted, and came in with a—
“Papa!”
“Well, what now?”[Pg 11]
“What did you promise, you forgetful thing?”
“Oh! oh yes!”
Well, the next day, it was just the same thing over again, but everybody getting crosser; and at the end of a week’s time so many people had lost their tempers that you could pick up lost tempers anywhere; they perfectly strewed the ground. Even when people tried to recover their tempers they usually got somebody else’s, and it made the most dreadful mix.
The little girl began to get frightened, keeping the secret all to herself; she wanted to tell her mother, but she didn’t dare to; and she was ashamed to ask the Fairy to take back her gift, it seemed ungrateful and ill-bred, and she thought she would try to stand it, but she hardly knew how she could, for a whole year. So it went on and on, and it was Christmas on St. Valentine’s Day and Wash[Pg 12]ington’s Birthday, just the same as any day, and it didn’t skip even the First of April, though everything was counterfeit that day, and that was some little relief.
After a while coal and potatoes began to be awfully scarce, so many had been wrapped up in tissue-paper to fool papas and mammas with. Turkeys got to be about a thousand dollars apiece—
“Papa!”
“Well, what?”
“You’re beginning to fib.”
“Well, two thousand, then.”
And they got to passing off almost anything for turkeys—half-grown humming-birds, and even rocs out of the Arabian Nights—the real turkeys were so scarce. And cranberries—well, they asked a diamond apiece for cranberries. All the woods and orchards were cut down for Christmas-trees, and where[Pg 13] the woods and orchards used to be it looked just like a stubble-field, with the stumps. After a while they had to make Christmas-trees out of rags, and stuff them with bran, like old-fashioned dolls; but there were plenty of rags, because people got so poor, buying presents for one another, that they couldn’t get any new clothes, and they just wore their old ones to tatters. They got so poor that everybody had to go to the poor-house, except the confectioners, and the fancy-store keepers, and the picture-book sellers, and the expressmen; and they all got so rich and proud that they would hardly wait upon a person when he came to buy. It was perfectly shameful!
Well, after it had gone on about three or four months, the little girl, whenever she came into the room in the morning and saw those great ugly, lumpy stockings dangling at the fire-place, and the disgusting presents around everywhere,[Pg 14] used to just sit down and burst out crying. In six months she was perfectly exhausted; she couldn’t even cry any more; she just lay on the lounge and rolled her eyes and panted. About the beginning of October she took to sitting down on dolls wherever she found them—French dolls, or any kind—she hated the sight of them so; and by Thanksgiving she was crazy, and just slammed her presents across the room.
By that time people didn’t carry presents around nicely any more. They flung them over the fence, or through the window, or anything; and, instead of running their tongues out and taking great pains to write “For dear Papa,” or “Mamma,” or “Brother,” or “Sister,” or “Susie,” or “Sammie,” or “Billie,” or “Bobbie,” or “Jimmie,” or “Jennie,” or whoever it was, and troubling to get the spelling right, and then signing their names, and “Xmas, 18—,” they used to write in the gift-books, “Take it,[Pg 15] you horrid old thing!” and then go and bang it against the front door. Nearly everybody had built barns to hold their presents, but pretty soon the barns overflowed, and then they used to let them lie out in the rain, or anywhere. Sometimes the police used to come and tell them to shovel their presents off the sidewalk, or they would arrest them.
“I thought you said everybody had gone to the poor-house,” interrupted the little girl.
“They did go, at first,” said her papa; “but after a while the poor-houses got so full that they had to send the people back to their own houses. They tried to cry, when they got back, but they couldn’t make the least sound.”
“Why couldn’t they?”
“Because they had lost their voices, saying ‘Merry Christmas’ so much. Did I tell you how it was on the Fourth of July?”[Pg 16]
“No; how was it?” And the little girl nestled closer, in expectation of something uncommon.
Well, the night before, the boys stayed up to celebrate, as they always do, and fell asleep before twelve o’clock, as usual, expecting to be wakened by the bells and cannon. But it was nearly eight o’clock before the first boy in the United States woke up, and then he found out what the trouble was. As soon as he could get his clothes on he ran out of the house and smashed a big cannon-torpedo down on the pavement; but it didn’t make any more noise than a damp wad of paper; and after he tried about twenty or thirty more, he began to pick them up and look at them. Every single torpedo was a big raisin! Then he just streaked it up-stairs, and examined his fire-crackers and toy-pistol and two-dollar collection of fireworks, and found that they were nothing but sugar and[Pg 17] candy painted up to look like fireworks! Before ten o’clock every boy in the United States found out that his Fourth of July things had turned into Christmas things; and then they just sat down and cried—they were so mad. There are about
twenty million boys in the United States, and so you can imagine what a noise they made. Some men got together before night, with a little powder that hadn’t turned into purple sugar yet, and they said they would fire off one cannon, anyway. But the cannon burst into a thousand pieces, for it was nothing but rock-candy, and some of the men nearly got killed. The Fourth of July orations all turned into Christmas carols, and when anybody tried to read the Declaration, instead of saying, “When in the course of human events it becomes necessary,” he was sure to sing, “God rest you, merry gentlemen.” It was perfectly awful.
[Pg 18]
The little girl drew a deep sigh of satisfaction.
“And how was it at Thanksgiving?”
Her papa hesitated. “Well, I’m almost afraid to tell you. I’m afraid you’ll think it’s wicked.”
“Well, tell, anyway,” said the little girl.
Well, before it came Thanksgiving it had leaked out who had caused all these Christmases. The little girl had suffered so much that she had talked about it in her sleep; and after that hardly anybody would play with her. People just perfectly despised her, because if it had not been for her greediness it wouldn’t have happened; and now, when it came Thanksgiving, and she wanted them to go to church, and have squash-pie and turkey, and show their gratitude, they said that all the turkeys had been eaten up for her old Christmas dinners, and if she would stop the Christmases, they[Pg 19] would see about the gratitude. Wasn’t it dreadful? And the very next day the little girl began to send letters to the Christmas Fairy, and then telegrams, to stop it. But it didn’t do any good; and then she got to calling at the Fairy’s house, but the girl that came to the door always said, “Not at home,” or “Engaged,” or “At dinner,” or something like that; and so it went on till it came to the old once-a-year Christmas Eve.
The little girl fell asleep, and when she woke up in the morning—
“She found it was all nothing but a dream,” suggested the little girl.
“No, indeed!” said her papa. “It was all every bit true!”
“Well, what did she find out, then?”
“Why, that it wasn’t Christmas at last, and wasn’t ever going to be, any more. Now it’s time for breakfast.”
The little girl held her papa fast around the neck.[Pg 20]
“You sha’n't go if you’re going to leave it so!”
“How do you want it left?”
“Christmas once a year.”
“All right,” said her papa; and he went on again.
Well, there was the greatest rejoicing all over the country, and it extended clear up into Canada. The people met together everywhere, and kissed and cried for joy. The city carts went around and gathered up all the candy and raisins and nuts, and dumped them into the river; and it made the fish perfectly sick; and the whole United States, as far out as Alaska, was one blaze of bonfires, where the children were burning up their gift-books and presents of all kinds. They had the greatest time!
The little girl went to thank the old Fairy because she had stopped its being Christmas, and she said she hoped she would keep her promise and see that[Pg 21] Christmas never, never came again. Then the Fairy frowned, and asked her if she was sure she knew what she meant; and the little girl asked her, Why not? and the old Fairy said that now she was behaving just as greedily as ever, and she’d better look out. This made the little girl think it all over carefully again, and she said she would be willing to have it Christmas about once in a thousand years; and then she said a hundred, and then she said ten, and at last she got down to one. Then the Fairy said that was the good old way that had pleased people ever since Christmas began, and she was agreed. Then the little girl said, “What’re your shoes made of?” And the Fairy said, “Leather.” And the little girl said, “Bargain’s done forever,” and skipped off, and hippity-hopped the whole way home, she was so glad.
“How will that do?” asked the papa.[Pg 22]
“First-rate!” said the little girl; but she hated to have the story stop, and was rather sober. However, her mamma put her head in at the door, and asked her papa:
“Are you never coming to breakfast? What have you been telling that child?”
“Oh, just a moral tale.”
The little girl caught him around the neck again.
“We know! Don’t you tell what, papa! Don’t you tell what!”
The little girl came into her papa’s study, as she always did Saturday morning before breakfast, and asked for a story. He tried to beg off that morning, for he was very busy, but she would not let him. So he began:
“Well, once there was a little pig—”
She put her hand over his mouth and stopped him at the word. She said she had heard little pig-stories till she was perfectly sick of them.
“Well, what kind of story shall I tell, then?”
“About Christmas. It’s getting to be the season. It’s past Thanksgiving already.”[Pg 4]
“It seems to me,” her papa argued, “that I’ve told as often about Christmas as I have about little pigs.”
“No difference! Christmas is more interesting.”
“Well!” Her papa roused himself from his writing by a great effort. “Well, then, I’ll tell you about the little girl that wanted it Christmas every day in the year. How would you like that?”
“First-rate!” said the little girl; and she nestled into comfortable shape in his lap, ready for listening.
“Very well, then, this little pig—Oh, what are you pounding me for?”
“Because you said little pig instead of little girl.”
“I should like to know what’s the difference between a little pig and a little girl that wanted it Christmas every day!”
“Papa,” said the little girl, warningly, “if you don’t go on, I’ll give it to you!” And at this her papa darted off[Pg 5] like lightning, and began to tell the story as fast as he could.
Well, once there was a little girl who liked Christmas so much that she wanted it to be Christmas every day in the year; and as soon as Thanksgiving was over she began to send postal-cards to the old Christmas Fairy to ask if she mightn’t have it. But the old fairy never answered any of the postals; and after a while the little girl found out that the Fairy was pretty particular, and wouldn’t notice anything but letters—not even correspondence cards in envelopes; but real letters on sheets of paper, and sealed outside with a monogram—or your initial, anyway. So, then, she began to send her letters; and in about three weeks—or just the day before Christmas, it was—she got a letter from the Fairy, saying she might have it Christmas every day for a year, and then they would see about having it longer.[Pg 6]
The little girl was a good deal excited already, preparing for the old-fashioned, once-a-year Christmas that was coming the next day, and perhaps the Fairy’s promise didn’t make such an impression on her as it would have made at some other time. She just resolved to keep it to herself, and surprise everybody with it as it kept coming true; and then it slipped out of her mind altogether.
She had a splendid Christmas. She went to bed early, so as to let Santa Claus have a chance at the stockings, and in the morning she was up the first of anybody and went and felt them, and found hers all lumpy with packages of candy, and oranges and grapes, and pocket-books and rubber balls, and all kinds of small presents, and her big brother’s with nothing but the tongs in them, and her young lady sister’s with a new silk umbrella, and her papa’s and mamma’s with potatoes and pieces of coal wrapped up in tissue-paper, just as they[Pg 7] always had every Christmas. Then she waited around till the rest of the family were up, and she was the first to burst into the library, when the doors were opened, and look at the large presents laid out on the library-table—books, and portfolios, and boxes of stationery, and breastpins, and dolls, and little stoves, and dozens of handkerchiefs, and ink-stands, and skates, and snow-shovels, and photograph-frames, and little easels, and boxes of water-colors, and Turkish
paste, and nougat, and candied cherries, and dolls’ houses, and waterproofs—and the big Christmas-tree, lighted and standing in a waste-basket in the middle.
She had a splendid Christmas all day. She ate so much candy that she did not want any breakfast; and the whole forenoon the presents kept pouring in that the expressman had not had time to deliver the night before; and she went round giving the presents she had got for other people, and came home and ate[Pg 8] turkey and cranberry for dinner, and plum-pudding and nuts and raisins and oranges and more candy, and then went out and coasted, and came in with a stomach-ache, crying; and her papa said he would see if his house was turned into that sort of fool’s paradise another year; and they had a light supper, and pretty early everybody went to bed cross.
Here the little girl pounded her papa in the back, again.
“Well, what now? Did I say pigs?”
“You made them act like pigs.”
“Well, didn’t they?”
“No matter; you oughtn’t to put it into a story.”
“Very well, then, I’ll take it all out.”
Her father went on:
The little girl slept very heavily, and she slept very late, but she was wakened at last by the other children dancing[Pg 9] round her bed with their stockings full of presents in their hands.
“What is it?” said the little girl, and she rubbed her eyes and tried to rise up in bed.
“Christmas! Christmas! Christmas!” they all shouted, and waved their stockings.
“Nonsense! It was Christmas yesterday.”
Her brothers and sisters just laughed. “We don’t know about that. It’s Christmas to-day, anyway. You come into the library and see.”
Then all at once it flashed on the little girl that the Fairy was keeping her promise, and her year of Christmases was beginning. She was dreadfully sleepy, but she sprang up like a lark—a lark that had overeaten itself and gone to bed cross—and darted into the library. There it was again! Books, and portfolios, and boxes of stationery, and breastpins—
[Pg 10]
“You needn’t go over it all, papa; I guess I can remember just what was there,” said the little girl.
Well, and there was the Christmas-tree blazing away, and the family picking out their presents, but looking pretty sleepy, and her father perfectly puzzled, and her mother ready to cry. “I’m sure I don’t see how I’m to dispose of all these things,” said her mother, and her father said it seemed to him they had had something just like it the day before, but he supposed he must have dreamed it. This struck the little girl as the best kind of a joke; and so she ate so much candy she didn’t want any breakfast, and went round carrying presents, and had turkey and cranberry for dinner, and then went out and coasted, and came in with a—
“Papa!”
“Well, what now?”[Pg 11]
“What did you promise, you forgetful thing?”
“Oh! oh yes!”
Well, the next day, it was just the same thing over again, but everybody getting crosser; and at the end of a week’s time so many people had lost their tempers that you could pick up lost tempers anywhere; they perfectly strewed the ground. Even when people tried to recover their tempers they usually got somebody else’s, and it made the most dreadful mix.
The little girl began to get frightened, keeping the secret all to herself; she wanted to tell her mother, but she didn’t dare to; and she was ashamed to ask the Fairy to take back her gift, it seemed ungrateful and ill-bred, and she thought she would try to stand it, but she hardly knew how she could, for a whole year. So it went on and on, and it was Christmas on St. Valentine’s Day and Wash[Pg 12]ington’s Birthday, just the same as any day, and it didn’t skip even the First of April, though everything was counterfeit that day, and that was some little relief.
After a while coal and potatoes began to be awfully scarce, so many had been wrapped up in tissue-paper to fool papas and mammas with. Turkeys got to be about a thousand dollars apiece—
“Papa!”
“Well, what?”
“You’re beginning to fib.”
“Well, two thousand, then.”
And they got to passing off almost anything for turkeys—half-grown humming-birds, and even rocs out of the Arabian Nights—the real turkeys were so scarce. And cranberries—well, they asked a diamond apiece for cranberries. All the woods and orchards were cut down for Christmas-trees, and where[Pg 13] the woods and orchards used to be it looked just like a stubble-field, with the stumps. After a while they had to make Christmas-trees out of rags, and stuff them with bran, like old-fashioned dolls; but there were plenty of rags, because people got so poor, buying presents for one another, that they couldn’t get any new clothes, and they just wore their old ones to tatters. They got so poor that everybody had to go to the poor-house, except the confectioners, and the fancy-store keepers, and the picture-book sellers, and the expressmen; and they all got so rich and proud that they would hardly wait upon a person when he came to buy. It was perfectly shameful!
Well, after it had gone on about three or four months, the little girl, whenever she came into the room in the morning and saw those great ugly, lumpy stockings dangling at the fire-place, and the disgusting presents around everywhere,[Pg 14] used to just sit down and burst out crying. In six months she was perfectly exhausted; she couldn’t even cry any more; she just lay on the lounge and rolled her eyes and panted. About the beginning of October she took to sitting down on dolls wherever she found them—French dolls, or any kind—she hated the sight of them so; and by Thanksgiving she was crazy, and just slammed her presents across the room.
By that time people didn’t carry presents around nicely any more. They flung them over the fence, or through the window, or anything; and, instead of running their tongues out and taking great pains to write “For dear Papa,” or “Mamma,” or “Brother,” or “Sister,” or “Susie,” or “Sammie,” or “Billie,” or “Bobbie,” or “Jimmie,” or “Jennie,” or whoever it was, and troubling to get the spelling right, and then signing their names, and “Xmas, 18—,” they used to write in the gift-books, “Take it,[Pg 15] you horrid old thing!” and then go and bang it against the front door. Nearly everybody had built barns to hold their presents, but pretty soon the barns overflowed, and then they used to let them lie out in the rain, or anywhere. Sometimes the police used to come and tell them to shovel their presents off the sidewalk, or they would arrest them.
“I thought you said everybody had gone to the poor-house,” interrupted the little girl.
“They did go, at first,” said her papa; “but after a while the poor-houses got so full that they had to send the people back to their own houses. They tried to cry, when they got back, but they couldn’t make the least sound.”
“Why couldn’t they?”
“Because they had lost their voices, saying ‘Merry Christmas’ so much. Did I tell you how it was on the Fourth of July?”[Pg 16]
“No; how was it?” And the little girl nestled closer, in expectation of something uncommon.
Well, the night before, the boys stayed up to celebrate, as they always do, and fell asleep before twelve o’clock, as usual, expecting to be wakened by the bells and cannon. But it was nearly eight o’clock before the first boy in the United States woke up, and then he found out what the trouble was. As soon as he could get his clothes on he ran out of the house and smashed a big cannon-torpedo down on the pavement; but it didn’t make any more noise than a damp wad of paper; and after he tried about twenty or thirty more, he began to pick them up and look at them. Every single torpedo was a big raisin! Then he just streaked it up-stairs, and examined his fire-crackers and toy-pistol and two-dollar collection of fireworks, and found that they were nothing but sugar and[Pg 17] candy painted up to look like fireworks! Before ten o’clock every boy in the United States found out that his Fourth of July things had turned into Christmas things; and then they just sat down and cried—they were so mad. There are about
twenty million boys in the United States, and so you can imagine what a noise they made. Some men got together before night, with a little powder that hadn’t turned into purple sugar yet, and they said they would fire off one cannon, anyway. But the cannon burst into a thousand pieces, for it was nothing but rock-candy, and some of the men nearly got killed. The Fourth of July orations all turned into Christmas carols, and when anybody tried to read the Declaration, instead of saying, “When in the course of human events it becomes necessary,” he was sure to sing, “God rest you, merry gentlemen.” It was perfectly awful.
[Pg 18]
The little girl drew a deep sigh of satisfaction.
“And how was it at Thanksgiving?”
Her papa hesitated. “Well, I’m almost afraid to tell you. I’m afraid you’ll think it’s wicked.”
“Well, tell, anyway,” said the little girl.
Well, before it came Thanksgiving it had leaked out who had caused all these Christmases. The little girl had suffered so much that she had talked about it in her sleep; and after that hardly anybody would play with her. People just perfectly despised her, because if it had not been for her greediness it wouldn’t have happened; and now, when it came Thanksgiving, and she wanted them to go to church, and have squash-pie and turkey, and show their gratitude, they said that all the turkeys had been eaten up for her old Christmas dinners, and if she would stop the Christmases, they[Pg 19] would see about the gratitude. Wasn’t it dreadful? And the very next day the little girl began to send letters to the Christmas Fairy, and then telegrams, to stop it. But it didn’t do any good; and then she got to calling at the Fairy’s house, but the girl that came to the door always said, “Not at home,” or “Engaged,” or “At dinner,” or something like that; and so it went on till it came to the old once-a-year Christmas Eve.
The little girl fell asleep, and when she woke up in the morning—
“She found it was all nothing but a dream,” suggested the little girl.
“No, indeed!” said her papa. “It was all every bit true!”
“Well, what did she find out, then?”
“Why, that it wasn’t Christmas at last, and wasn’t ever going to be, any more. Now it’s time for breakfast.”
The little girl held her papa fast around the neck.[Pg 20]
“You sha’n't go if you’re going to leave it so!”
“How do you want it left?”
“Christmas once a year.”
“All right,” said her papa; and he went on again.
Well, there was the greatest rejoicing all over the country, and it extended clear up into Canada. The people met together everywhere, and kissed and cried for joy. The city carts went around and gathered up all the candy and raisins and nuts, and dumped them into the river; and it made the fish perfectly sick; and the whole United States, as far out as Alaska, was one blaze of bonfires, where the children were burning up their gift-books and presents of all kinds. They had the greatest time!
The little girl went to thank the old Fairy because she had stopped its being Christmas, and she said she hoped she would keep her promise and see that[Pg 21] Christmas never, never came again. Then the Fairy frowned, and asked her if she was sure she knew what she meant; and the little girl asked her, Why not? and the old Fairy said that now she was behaving just as greedily as ever, and she’d better look out. This made the little girl think it all over carefully again, and she said she would be willing to have it Christmas about once in a thousand years; and then she said a hundred, and then she said ten, and at last she got down to one. Then the Fairy said that was the good old way that had pleased people ever since Christmas began, and she was agreed. Then the little girl said, “What’re your shoes made of?” And the Fairy said, “Leather.” And the little girl said, “Bargain’s done forever,” and skipped off, and hippity-hopped the whole way home, she was so glad.
“How will that do?” asked the papa.[Pg 22]
“First-rate!” said the little girl; but she hated to have the story stop, and was rather sober. However, her mamma put her head in at the door, and asked her papa:
“Are you never coming to breakfast? What have you been telling that child?”
“Oh, just a moral tale.”
The little girl caught him around the neck again.
“We know! Don’t you tell what, papa! Don’t you tell what!”
http://www.best-christmas-stories.com/2009/12/christmas-everyday/
The Dolls’ Christmas Party
Story written by Viola Roseborough
It was the week before Christmas, and the dolls In the toy-shop played together all night. The biggest one was from Paris.
One night she said, “We ought to have a party before Santa Claus carries us away to the little girls. I can dance, and I will show you how.”
“I can dance myself if you will pull the string,” said a “Jim Crow” doll.
“What shall we have for supper?” piped a little boy-doll in a Jersey suit. He was always thinking about eating.
“Oh, dear,” cried the French lady, “I don’t know what we shall do for supper!”
“I can get the supper,” added a big rag doll. The other dolls had never liked her very well, but they thanked her now. She had taken lessons at a cooking-school, and knew how to make cake and candy. She gave French names to everything she made, and this made it taste better. Old Mother Hubbard was there, and she said the rag doll did not know how to cook anything.
They danced in one of the great shop-windows. They opened a toy piano, and a singing-doll played “Comin’ through the Rye,” The dolls did not find that a good tune to dance by; but the lady did not know any other, although she was the most costly doll in the shop. Then they wound up a music-box, and danced by that. This did very well for some tunes; but they had to walk around when it played “Hail Columbia,” and wait for something else.
The “Jim Crow” doll had to dance by himself, for he could do nothing but a “break-down.” He would not dance at all unless some one pulled his string. A toy monkey did this; but he would not stop when the dancer was tired.
They had supper on one of the counters. The rag doll placed some boxes for tables. The supper was of candy, for there was nothing in the shop to eat but sugar hearts and eggs. The dolls like candy better than anything else, and the supper was splendid. Patsy McQuirk said he could not eat candy. He wanted to know what kind of a supper it was without any potatoes. He got very angry, put his hands into his pockets, and smoked his pipe. It was very uncivil for him to do so in company. The smoke made the little ladies sick, and they all tried to climb into a”horn of plenty” to get out of the way.
Mother Hubbard and the two waiters tried to sing “I love Little Pussy;” but the tall one in a brigand hat opened his mouth wide, that the small dollies were afraid they might fall into it. The clown raised both arms in wonder, and Jack in the Box sprang up as high as me could to look down into the fellow’s throat.
All the baby-dolls in caps and long dresses had been put to bed. They woke up when the others were at supper, and began to cry. The big doll brought them some candy, and that kept them quiet for some time.
The next morning a little girl found the toy piano open. She was sure the dolls had been playing on it. The grown-up people thought it had been left open the night before; but they do not understand dolls as well as little people do.
It was the week before Christmas, and the dolls In the toy-shop played together all night. The biggest one was from Paris.
One night she said, “We ought to have a party before Santa Claus carries us away to the little girls. I can dance, and I will show you how.”
“I can dance myself if you will pull the string,” said a “Jim Crow” doll.
“What shall we have for supper?” piped a little boy-doll in a Jersey suit. He was always thinking about eating.
“Oh, dear,” cried the French lady, “I don’t know what we shall do for supper!”
“I can get the supper,” added a big rag doll. The other dolls had never liked her very well, but they thanked her now. She had taken lessons at a cooking-school, and knew how to make cake and candy. She gave French names to everything she made, and this made it taste better. Old Mother Hubbard was there, and she said the rag doll did not know how to cook anything.
They danced in one of the great shop-windows. They opened a toy piano, and a singing-doll played “Comin’ through the Rye,” The dolls did not find that a good tune to dance by; but the lady did not know any other, although she was the most costly doll in the shop. Then they wound up a music-box, and danced by that. This did very well for some tunes; but they had to walk around when it played “Hail Columbia,” and wait for something else.
The “Jim Crow” doll had to dance by himself, for he could do nothing but a “break-down.” He would not dance at all unless some one pulled his string. A toy monkey did this; but he would not stop when the dancer was tired.
They had supper on one of the counters. The rag doll placed some boxes for tables. The supper was of candy, for there was nothing in the shop to eat but sugar hearts and eggs. The dolls like candy better than anything else, and the supper was splendid. Patsy McQuirk said he could not eat candy. He wanted to know what kind of a supper it was without any potatoes. He got very angry, put his hands into his pockets, and smoked his pipe. It was very uncivil for him to do so in company. The smoke made the little ladies sick, and they all tried to climb into a”horn of plenty” to get out of the way.
Mother Hubbard and the two waiters tried to sing “I love Little Pussy;” but the tall one in a brigand hat opened his mouth wide, that the small dollies were afraid they might fall into it. The clown raised both arms in wonder, and Jack in the Box sprang up as high as me could to look down into the fellow’s throat.
All the baby-dolls in caps and long dresses had been put to bed. They woke up when the others were at supper, and began to cry. The big doll brought them some candy, and that kept them quiet for some time.
The next morning a little girl found the toy piano open. She was sure the dolls had been playing on it. The grown-up people thought it had been left open the night before; but they do not understand dolls as well as little people do.
http://www.best-christmas-stories.com/2009/12/the-dolls-christmas-party-2/
New Year Resolutions
A New Year's resolution or a commitment is done to make your new year a better one. If someone makes resolutions to reform a habit, then there are people who want to make changes in their lifestyle. These promises are made on New Year's Day, the first day of a brand new year. These resolutions are supposed to be either fulfilled or abandoned by the end of that year.
Popular New Year Resolutions
Donate to the poor more often
Become more environmentally responsible
Lose weight
Get Fit
Concentrate more on studies
Become more assertive
Become more cost-effective
Quit smoking, drinking and other such habits
Get a Better Job
Eat Right
Get a Better Education
Get out of Debt
Save Money
Get a Better Mark on the Report Card (such as 90% up)
Reduce Stress
Take a Trip
Be more independent
Learn something new
Volunteer to Help Others
Be Less Grumpy
The list of resolutions in New Year never ends. Different people come up with thousands of innovative resolutions every year. Some remain abandoned, while some get fulfilled. The New Year resolutions help plan for the next year.
These resolutions made during the New Year have a religious connotation. This secular tradition started during Judaism's New Year, Rosh Hashanah, when one was supposed "to reflect upon one's wrongdoings over the year and both seek and offer forgiveness." This ritual helped in one's self-improvement annually. Following this tradition, today everyone makes their own resolution every New Year, be it on the 1st of January or by late January, and set their goals.
http://www.123newyear.com/resolutions.html
воскресенье, 26 декабря 2010 г.
понедельник, 20 декабря 2010 г.
The Christmas the Lights Went Out
Tom Jankowitz took his coat off and threw it onto the seat in the airport lounge. He sat down and opened up his laptop computer, keeping one eye on the small television which showed the departure times of all the flights from the airport.
Tom Jankowitz was tired. Tired and bored. It was Christmas, nearly. Tom hated Christmas. He only remembered that it would be Christmas tomorrow because there were Christmas decorations all over the airport, and he could see the date on the small television showing the departure times of all the flights. “December 24th” it said. “Happy Christmas” said all the notices in the windows of the shops. The shops were closed now. It was late. Tom was going home. He had been to a business meeting in New York and had to take a plane back home. The meeting had been difficult. He had decided to close a lot of his company’s offices. A lot of people were unhappy about his decision, but he didn’t care.
Tom thought that he would rather spend Christmas on his own in a hotel room with his computer. He didn’t really want to go home.
Anja Kohonen carefully checked the potatoes roasting in the oven, made sure the wine in the fridge was cold and that there was a bottle of champagne for later. She carefully checked the candles on the Christmas tree, as she didn’t want them to set fire to the tree. She looked out of the window. The snow was starting to fall again. She looked at her watch again.
Guy Domville finished his beer and walked out of the hot, smoky pub into the cold night air. He thought about getting a taxi home, but knew it would be difficult to find one at this time of the evening, especially on Christmas Eve. Anyway, because it was a clear, crisp night, he thought he would enjoy the walk home. It was late, and dark, and cold. There weren’t many people on the streets. A man came walking towards him. The man was only wearing a t-shirt. He looked like he was freezing cold.
“Are you all right?” Guy asked the man.
“I’m freezing” the man replied. Guy took off his coat, and gave it to the man.
“There you go!” said Guy. The man looked very surprised, but took the coat, put it on and went on his way.
“Thanks!” he shouted as he left. Now it was Guy who was freezing. He had no idea why he had just decided to give his coat to a complete stranger. Perhaps because it was nearly Christmas. Perhaps it was because Guy hadn’t given presents to anyone else this Christmas. Perhaps it was because this year he had no one to give any presents to.
Leila came out of church into the night. It was much colder than she expected. Every other time she had been to stay with her grandmother it had been very hot. She had no idea it could get so cold out here in Damascus, out here on the edge of the desert. That was OK though. She didn’t think that Christmas in a hot place would seem right somehow. Christmas had always been cold for her. She was happy to be here in such a beautiful place, with her mother and her grandmother. It was a shame her father wasn’t there, but she hadn’t heard from him in months now.
Rudolf Lenk was bored. Very bored. It was Christmas Eve, and he was stuck in an office, surrounded by computers, completely on his own. Rudolf could think of nothing more boring than this. It was only boredom, thought Rudolf later, that made him do the stupid thing he decided to do.
Rudolf Lenk pulled a plug out. It was only a little plug. It wasn’t even hard to pull it out. That was all he did. He pulled a small plug out of a small socket. And then.
And then.
And then.
Rudolf Lenk watched the lights go out. At first he watched the lights go out in the office where he was. Then he looked out of the window and watched all the lights go out in the town where he was. And then he imagined what was happening.
All
across
the world,
one
by
one…
the lights were going out.
Tom Jankowitz hardly noticed as the television screen with the departure times on it flickered, then went off. He looked up just in time to see it before all the lights in the airport went off, too. For a few moments there was light coming in from the big window which looked out onto the runway of the airport, but then all the lights on the runway went out as well. Soon, everything was totally, completely and utterly black. The only light came from the tiny little lights on the wings of the aeroplanes, and the light from his own portable computer screen. Soon, there was an announcement:
“Ladies and gentlemen, we regret to inform you that there seems to have been a power cut. All flights for the moment are cancelled. Thank you”.
A man sat down next to Tom.
“Looks like we’re not going anywhere tonight” he said. Tom didn’t reply, but nodded in agreement. Not going anywhere, he thought. Not going anywhere. I’m not going anywhere. Not tonight, not ever. The only places I ever go are offices of GlobalPower International. He looked at the light coming from his computer screen. Some numbers looked at him. Numbers were the only thing that he was going to see on Christmas Day. Some numbers, and his computer. Is that all there is to it? Nothing, thought Tom, is going anywhere.
In one second, everything went from light to dark for Anja. Her house, filled with light and warmth and the smells of cooking, went black. The only light and the only warmth came from the big fire that she had started. She looked at the fire which continued burning, filling the room with warm light. It looked good. It made her feel happy. It reminded her of when she was a child. She looked out of the window and saw that it was dark for as far as she could see. The flickering light from the fire illuminated the snowflakes that were now falling heavily outside. She wondered if anyone was coming to join her this evening.
It was completely quiet on the streets outside. Guy thought it was strange. Usually these streets were full of busy people. Now they were completely empty. The snow that had fallen looked like a carpet. Outside looked like inside. Walking home, lost in his thoughts and the snow, Guy hardly noticed that all the streetlights had gone out. The darkness around him was the same as the darkness he felt inside him.
Sometimes he could see into the windows of the houses that he passed. Most of the houses were dark, but some people had lit candles. The candles looked beautiful, he thought. The made the people’s houses look warm and friendly and cosy.
Guy felt sad that he was now going back to a house where no one had lit any candles. He didn’t want to go home. His flat was empty. It would be the first Christmas without his daughter and his ex-wife. He thought about how hot it would be where they were, and wondered what Christmas would be like for them. He hadn’t spoken to his daughter in over three months.
Guy didn’t want to go home. He thought about how his wife always said he worked too much, that he never took time to do the simple things in life. Now here he was, walking along the streets where he usually went to work, doing nothing. He decided that he would leave his job with GlobalPower in January. He wanted to walk these strange empty streets forever. Or at least until he could see his daughter again.
Leila looked up at the night sky so full of stars. She thought she had never seen so many stars in the sky when she lived in London. The city was so dark, it made it easier to see the sky. She walked with her mother along the narrow streets of the Christian quarter of old Damascus, all decorated for Christmas, and lit now with candles. She was happy here with her mother and grandmother, but she still missed her father, even though he hadn’t called.
Rudolf Lenk realised what he had done with a shock. He put the plug back in its socket. He hoped nobody would have noticed what he had done.
And
Very
Very
Slowly
One. By. One.
The lights
across the world.
Came back on again.
Like a breath at first, like a tiny whisper which nobody could hear which grew and grew and grew, like the first ripple out in the sea which will become a gigantic wave, like the spark which lights a candle which can start a fire, like the first falling snowflake of a giant storm, like the first star which appears in the night sky and makes enough light for you to be able to see another, and then another, and another and more and more until the whole sky which covers the whole world is hung with starry, illuminated fruit, light connected to light until at midnight, the darkest point of the night the whole world was full of bright bright light.
Tom Jankowitz watched the lights going back on again in the airport and heard the sound of people cheering. He cheered as well, and smiled at the man who was sitting next to him. He felt like someone had turned a light on in him too. He was looking forward to being home. “I’m going somewhere” he thought. “I’ve got somewhere to go.”
Anja got up, and turned the lights that had come on off again. “I like the dark” she thought to herself. “I like the dark and the fire, just like this. That’s how I like it”. She curled up next to the fire, and fell asleep.
Guy was looking for a tiny piece of paper he remembered having put in his pocket months ago. It was so dark out here that he couldn’t see anything. His hands were so cold that it was difficult to find anything in his pockets.
Then, suddenly, everything became light. He realised that he was standing under a streetlight that had just come on again. He found the tiny piece of paper in his wallet with a long number written on it. The number had faded, but he could still read it. He found some one pound coins in his other pocket. He found a phone box, but the phone didn’t work. He walked some more until he found another phone box. He picked up the telephone receiver and heard the bleeping sound. It worked. He put the money in and began to dial the number.
Back at home in their flat with her mother and her grandmother, and all the other Syrian branch of her Anglo-arabic family, Leila heard the old phone ringing. Who would be calling at this time of night? She ran across the room to answer it.
Rudolf Lenk was writing a note on a piece of paper. He addressed the note to his boss at GlobalPower International and left it on his desk. “Yes, it was me” he wrote. “And no, I don’t want my job anymore. Oh, and by the way, happy Christmas!”
Tom Jankowitz was tired. Tired and bored. It was Christmas, nearly. Tom hated Christmas. He only remembered that it would be Christmas tomorrow because there were Christmas decorations all over the airport, and he could see the date on the small television showing the departure times of all the flights. “December 24th” it said. “Happy Christmas” said all the notices in the windows of the shops. The shops were closed now. It was late. Tom was going home. He had been to a business meeting in New York and had to take a plane back home. The meeting had been difficult. He had decided to close a lot of his company’s offices. A lot of people were unhappy about his decision, but he didn’t care.
Tom thought that he would rather spend Christmas on his own in a hotel room with his computer. He didn’t really want to go home.
Anja Kohonen carefully checked the potatoes roasting in the oven, made sure the wine in the fridge was cold and that there was a bottle of champagne for later. She carefully checked the candles on the Christmas tree, as she didn’t want them to set fire to the tree. She looked out of the window. The snow was starting to fall again. She looked at her watch again.
Guy Domville finished his beer and walked out of the hot, smoky pub into the cold night air. He thought about getting a taxi home, but knew it would be difficult to find one at this time of the evening, especially on Christmas Eve. Anyway, because it was a clear, crisp night, he thought he would enjoy the walk home. It was late, and dark, and cold. There weren’t many people on the streets. A man came walking towards him. The man was only wearing a t-shirt. He looked like he was freezing cold.
“Are you all right?” Guy asked the man.
“I’m freezing” the man replied. Guy took off his coat, and gave it to the man.
“There you go!” said Guy. The man looked very surprised, but took the coat, put it on and went on his way.
“Thanks!” he shouted as he left. Now it was Guy who was freezing. He had no idea why he had just decided to give his coat to a complete stranger. Perhaps because it was nearly Christmas. Perhaps it was because Guy hadn’t given presents to anyone else this Christmas. Perhaps it was because this year he had no one to give any presents to.
Leila came out of church into the night. It was much colder than she expected. Every other time she had been to stay with her grandmother it had been very hot. She had no idea it could get so cold out here in Damascus, out here on the edge of the desert. That was OK though. She didn’t think that Christmas in a hot place would seem right somehow. Christmas had always been cold for her. She was happy to be here in such a beautiful place, with her mother and her grandmother. It was a shame her father wasn’t there, but she hadn’t heard from him in months now.
Rudolf Lenk was bored. Very bored. It was Christmas Eve, and he was stuck in an office, surrounded by computers, completely on his own. Rudolf could think of nothing more boring than this. It was only boredom, thought Rudolf later, that made him do the stupid thing he decided to do.
Rudolf Lenk pulled a plug out. It was only a little plug. It wasn’t even hard to pull it out. That was all he did. He pulled a small plug out of a small socket. And then.
And then.
And then.
Rudolf Lenk watched the lights go out. At first he watched the lights go out in the office where he was. Then he looked out of the window and watched all the lights go out in the town where he was. And then he imagined what was happening.
All
across
the world,
one
by
one…
the lights were going out.
Tom Jankowitz hardly noticed as the television screen with the departure times on it flickered, then went off. He looked up just in time to see it before all the lights in the airport went off, too. For a few moments there was light coming in from the big window which looked out onto the runway of the airport, but then all the lights on the runway went out as well. Soon, everything was totally, completely and utterly black. The only light came from the tiny little lights on the wings of the aeroplanes, and the light from his own portable computer screen. Soon, there was an announcement:
“Ladies and gentlemen, we regret to inform you that there seems to have been a power cut. All flights for the moment are cancelled. Thank you”.
A man sat down next to Tom.
“Looks like we’re not going anywhere tonight” he said. Tom didn’t reply, but nodded in agreement. Not going anywhere, he thought. Not going anywhere. I’m not going anywhere. Not tonight, not ever. The only places I ever go are offices of GlobalPower International. He looked at the light coming from his computer screen. Some numbers looked at him. Numbers were the only thing that he was going to see on Christmas Day. Some numbers, and his computer. Is that all there is to it? Nothing, thought Tom, is going anywhere.
In one second, everything went from light to dark for Anja. Her house, filled with light and warmth and the smells of cooking, went black. The only light and the only warmth came from the big fire that she had started. She looked at the fire which continued burning, filling the room with warm light. It looked good. It made her feel happy. It reminded her of when she was a child. She looked out of the window and saw that it was dark for as far as she could see. The flickering light from the fire illuminated the snowflakes that were now falling heavily outside. She wondered if anyone was coming to join her this evening.
It was completely quiet on the streets outside. Guy thought it was strange. Usually these streets were full of busy people. Now they were completely empty. The snow that had fallen looked like a carpet. Outside looked like inside. Walking home, lost in his thoughts and the snow, Guy hardly noticed that all the streetlights had gone out. The darkness around him was the same as the darkness he felt inside him.
Sometimes he could see into the windows of the houses that he passed. Most of the houses were dark, but some people had lit candles. The candles looked beautiful, he thought. The made the people’s houses look warm and friendly and cosy.
Guy felt sad that he was now going back to a house where no one had lit any candles. He didn’t want to go home. His flat was empty. It would be the first Christmas without his daughter and his ex-wife. He thought about how hot it would be where they were, and wondered what Christmas would be like for them. He hadn’t spoken to his daughter in over three months.
Guy didn’t want to go home. He thought about how his wife always said he worked too much, that he never took time to do the simple things in life. Now here he was, walking along the streets where he usually went to work, doing nothing. He decided that he would leave his job with GlobalPower in January. He wanted to walk these strange empty streets forever. Or at least until he could see his daughter again.
Leila looked up at the night sky so full of stars. She thought she had never seen so many stars in the sky when she lived in London. The city was so dark, it made it easier to see the sky. She walked with her mother along the narrow streets of the Christian quarter of old Damascus, all decorated for Christmas, and lit now with candles. She was happy here with her mother and grandmother, but she still missed her father, even though he hadn’t called.
Rudolf Lenk realised what he had done with a shock. He put the plug back in its socket. He hoped nobody would have noticed what he had done.
And
Very
Very
Slowly
One. By. One.
The lights
across the world.
Came back on again.
Like a breath at first, like a tiny whisper which nobody could hear which grew and grew and grew, like the first ripple out in the sea which will become a gigantic wave, like the spark which lights a candle which can start a fire, like the first falling snowflake of a giant storm, like the first star which appears in the night sky and makes enough light for you to be able to see another, and then another, and another and more and more until the whole sky which covers the whole world is hung with starry, illuminated fruit, light connected to light until at midnight, the darkest point of the night the whole world was full of bright bright light.
Tom Jankowitz watched the lights going back on again in the airport and heard the sound of people cheering. He cheered as well, and smiled at the man who was sitting next to him. He felt like someone had turned a light on in him too. He was looking forward to being home. “I’m going somewhere” he thought. “I’ve got somewhere to go.”
Anja got up, and turned the lights that had come on off again. “I like the dark” she thought to herself. “I like the dark and the fire, just like this. That’s how I like it”. She curled up next to the fire, and fell asleep.
Guy was looking for a tiny piece of paper he remembered having put in his pocket months ago. It was so dark out here that he couldn’t see anything. His hands were so cold that it was difficult to find anything in his pockets.
Then, suddenly, everything became light. He realised that he was standing under a streetlight that had just come on again. He found the tiny piece of paper in his wallet with a long number written on it. The number had faded, but he could still read it. He found some one pound coins in his other pocket. He found a phone box, but the phone didn’t work. He walked some more until he found another phone box. He picked up the telephone receiver and heard the bleeping sound. It worked. He put the money in and began to dial the number.
Back at home in their flat with her mother and her grandmother, and all the other Syrian branch of her Anglo-arabic family, Leila heard the old phone ringing. Who would be calling at this time of night? She ran across the room to answer it.
Rudolf Lenk was writing a note on a piece of paper. He addressed the note to his boss at GlobalPower International and left it on his desk. “Yes, it was me” he wrote. “And no, I don’t want my job anymore. Oh, and by the way, happy Christmas!”
http://learnenglish.britishcouncil.org/en/stories/christmas-lights-went-out%20
четверг, 16 декабря 2010 г.
Claustrophobic
When Grandma said she was buying a scooter, we thought she meant the kind that you ride on. The typical mobility scooter is similar to an electric wheelchair.
We were surprised when Grandma asked if the kids wanted a ride in her new scooter. Didn’t she mean a ride on her scooter? When we got to the parking garage, we understood what Grandma meant. Her new scooter was more like a car! It even had its own parking spot. The kids fought over who got to have a ride with Grandma first. Everyone took a turn, except me.
Why didn’t I want a ride in Grandma’s Mr. Bean car? Well, the truth is, I’m a tad claustrophobic. In my opinion, this phobia stems from having older brothers who loved to cover my head with blankets or bury me in pillows. My brothers deny this torture to this day. Regardless of whether or not my memory serves me correctly, I don’t enjoy being in enclosed spaces. This includes showers that close tightly, elevators (I almost never take an elevator alone.), and yes, Grandma’s new scooter. I know this is an irrational fear, but I can’t help it. That is why it is called a phobia. I am also afraid of mice. Do you have an irrational fear?
Word Forms
claustrophobic (adjective)
claustrophobia (noun)
How to Describe your Fear
To describe your fear in English you can always say, “I am afraid of + (fear)” or “I have a fear of + (fear)”.
I am afraid of spiders.
I have a fear of flying.
To use a word such as the ones below, you can use the adjective form or the noun form.
I am claustrophobic.
I have claustrophobia.
Other Common Phobias
arachnophobia: fear of spiders
agoraphobia: fear of leaving your home or your comfort zone
xenophobia: fear of foreigners or strangers
acrophobia: fear of heights (It is more common to say “I’m afraid of heights”.)
And here is a new one I learned today: “carcinophobia”. This is an irrational fear of cancer. If you have carcinophobia you are afraid that every pain or illness you have is a sign of cancer.
We were surprised when Grandma asked if the kids wanted a ride in her new scooter. Didn’t she mean a ride on her scooter? When we got to the parking garage, we understood what Grandma meant. Her new scooter was more like a car! It even had its own parking spot. The kids fought over who got to have a ride with Grandma first. Everyone took a turn, except me.
Why didn’t I want a ride in Grandma’s Mr. Bean car? Well, the truth is, I’m a tad claustrophobic. In my opinion, this phobia stems from having older brothers who loved to cover my head with blankets or bury me in pillows. My brothers deny this torture to this day. Regardless of whether or not my memory serves me correctly, I don’t enjoy being in enclosed spaces. This includes showers that close tightly, elevators (I almost never take an elevator alone.), and yes, Grandma’s new scooter. I know this is an irrational fear, but I can’t help it. That is why it is called a phobia. I am also afraid of mice. Do you have an irrational fear?
Word Forms
claustrophobic (adjective)
claustrophobia (noun)
How to Describe your Fear
To describe your fear in English you can always say, “I am afraid of + (fear)” or “I have a fear of + (fear)”.
I am afraid of spiders.
I have a fear of flying.
To use a word such as the ones below, you can use the adjective form or the noun form.
I am claustrophobic.
I have claustrophobia.
Other Common Phobias
arachnophobia: fear of spiders
agoraphobia: fear of leaving your home or your comfort zone
xenophobia: fear of foreigners or strangers
acrophobia: fear of heights (It is more common to say “I’m afraid of heights”.)
And here is a new one I learned today: “carcinophobia”. This is an irrational fear of cancer. If you have carcinophobia you are afraid that every pain or illness you have is a sign of cancer.
http://edition.englishclub.com/esl-magazine/claustrophobic/
Подписаться на:
Сообщения (Atom)