9anne-Memorabilia

 

十分疲惫地或者说熬着过了一周。但是工作得很有效率。感到成就！

 

今天下班去做了脸。回来玩了一会儿的网上游戏。就开始做小峰的PPT。

 

明天下午在德州中学玩“重返童年”。然后我要PRESENT我的PPT的。最后大家还会捐款给民工小学。

蛮快乐的！

 

但是要早点睡觉了。因为明天一早还有音乐会在等我！ Oriental Art Center @ Pudong. 生活十分充实。。。

 

周日则是公司的家庭日。我是SECONDARY MC了。因为大老板还是选择助理做翻译。。。老了没市场了。

 

下周末要好好犒劳自己一下，去旅行？！

 

Hi Fox,

首先要谢谢你那么热心地帮忙。你让我把小峰的事情讲一下。是这样的;

上上周的周日，我去了家里附近的长青公园。远远地，妈妈和我看到了一个孩子，很清秀很漂亮，但是他去在捶打自己的胸膛。

妈妈说："这个孩子不太好。"出自本能，我走上前去，已经有一些人在”围观“了。妈妈说：“这个爸爸多辛苦，我来抱抱宝宝。“ 我们上千去抱他。好在他很亲热也不认生。然后我也抱了他。在我手臂里的是个很沉，但是确实个很漂亮的孩子。他的爸爸长得也很好，而且很善良地长相。

听孩子的爸爸说孩子的名字叫唐嘉峰，他妈妈在他5个月的时候，抱他在乡下的路上走，突然有一个模特车极速驶来，将母子俩撞飞。妈妈去世了。孩子被抛出，然后着地，头脑开裂。
肇事者是一个农民，倾其所有，也只能赔付一部分的费用。法院强制执行作用也微乎其微，因为那个人也同样困难和贫苦。

现在，这个孩子2岁半了。他的现状是，起初在农村的头脑缝合因为条件和技术不尽成熟使他的头上留下一个很大的凹槽，并且不能愈合。现在孩子天天长大，头脑愈合了，可是留下了一条像自行车轮般宽的凹陷。peixiao

这表面的缺陷意味着深层的问题：半身瘫痪，脑积水（因为感染和发炎，插管引流手术进行了3次。）具体的表现是小峰很难站稳。当爸爸去烧饭，把他一个人留在房里坐着，他会从椅子上失衡跌下。小峰也不能控制流口水（但是现在康复院和爸爸教会他”啵啵“像亲吻一样地把口水吮回去。尽管常常失败，但是小峰可以很可爱地做亲吻状。）他的头脑右边有凹陷，所以他的左手不能动弹。(感谢上帝康复治疗使得他的左脚可以站立，并在搀扶下走路。）爸爸教他要意识自己的左手的存在，并教他用右手拍打左手。“小峰，看看你的左手在哪里？”唐先生说。看着小峰使劲敲打自己的样子，我的心都碎了。可能小小的他，也意识到自己的手与众不同，也有点小焦虑？小峰也站不稳，所以爸爸常常抱着他，至少每天早上乘公车去康复治疗和下午回家，都是爸爸抱着。因为爸爸很耐心，采取每天少食多餐的策略，小峰很壮实，爸爸却很瘦。可以想象爸爸有多辛苦，因为我偶尔抱他10分钟，手臂就很酸痛。所以，”下班"回来，爸爸就把他放到童车上，这样小峰就不会跌倒，才放心地去烧饭，然后带他乘风凉。不过唐先生说，要小峰做个男子汉，所以让他锻炼着站着看爸爸烧饭，如果跌倒了，就说“起来，小峰，不哭！” 小峰真地学会了不哭。爸爸把他扶起来，继续”锻炼“或者坐下歇歇。

说到小峰的家。这是一个6平方米大的四面不透风的小屋。主要是一个床。一些堆起的箱子和锅碗瓢盆。上周五下了班，我买了一堆儿童食品和玩具，去拜访小峰。远远就见到纱门里，不是很亮的灯光下，小峰坐在小凳子上，看见我来了，他很开心地笑了。那也着实温暖了我的心。周日在公园里抱了他许久，给了他许多亲亲，然后他抱着我紧紧地，叫我“妈妈”。（这也是他记忆中还会叫的。除此之外，他还会说“奶奶”。）这些可能就被他记住了。看到我竟然认识并且迷人地笑！感到幸福无比！用Fox的话，我母性爆发。不是一件坏事吧！那个会心的笑脸我永远不会忘记的。。。

走进小屋，十分地闷热。我问唐先生没有风扇吗？他说没有。我立马回家把家里的风扇提来给他们。唐先生看着转动地风扇高兴地说:"现在风凉多了！“我说：“真地很热啊!这样你们今晚睡着开个小挡酒很舒服了”他说:"我们之前热了就出去转一圈，乘乘（自然）风凉。” 我想到了以前小时候住在淮海路石窟门妈妈晚上扇着扇子陪我进入梦乡。。。小峰的爸爸也许在辛苦了一天之后还要摇着风扇，在2009年？我很高兴，我半旧的风扇可以那么有用。

我和爸爸一同去，然后就和小峰玩，疯。玩躲猫猫。爸爸像是看到了我的孩子，对他亲亲又亲亲。本能地对孩子的爱！把他抱在怀中摇啊摇摇到外婆桥。小峰真的很开心，一直开心地笑。血色很健康的小脸越发可爱了。唐先生说小峰很会看脸色。对他笑的人，他也回赠他的快乐。如果有人嫌弃他对他不理不睬，他也“一瞥而过”。好样的。要记住，一定有很多人会喜欢你小峰。

唐先生说，他现在每天一早抱着孩子出发，去康复院治疗。同时也会在一些日子赶到到宝山，因为那里有医生愿意免费推拿治疗小峰。但是路途遥远 - ”有时候也没有人照顾让座。通常上海人老人和年轻人都很好。但是中年人反而冷漠。”这是唐先生的反馈。我可以想象，我们这一代的教育，让我们大部分人有礼貌有爱心。但是中年人们！也许你们中的一部分真地做得不够好？这个爸爸很瘦弱，年纪轻轻已经有了皱纹，而这个孩子很重，部分因为他的鞋子灌了金属，可以帮助他站稳！

然后唐先生说：我会尽量找个有窗的房子，住得舒服点。但是浦西的房租是在太贵了。不然就不要这样每天过江往返了。。。

我觉得我很喜欢"从我做起“这句口号。说的是维护公共卫生？反正上海以前街头经常有这样的口号。我愿意帮助小峰 - 花费力所能及的资源。我在博客写了一句话给自己“希望自己比现在的自己更好，这样我可以更好地帮助小峰，以此自勉。”

一个人的力量也许是有限的，希望有Fox一样更多的好心人。不必一定要出钱，花时间，花人脉，帮助我们把这个事情办地更好，更长远。

我始终相信怜惜是爱中很高的一种。因此我爱小峰。

谢谢。

I take the liberty to publish this article my colleague and friend asked me to help translate into Chinese. For his parents's 60th wedding anniversary. So 甜蜜。I am translating into Pin Yin so he can read to his parents in 'Chinese'.

 

Enjoy  and Cheers!

 

All of the Seasons Together

 

It is a privilege for me to be present at this celebration. I am one of many benefactors of my parents’ long and stable marriage. As the second son, I speak now in the place that rightly belongs to my older brother. I am quite sure, if he were here, he would have better and richer words to say.

 

I cannot, in a few minutes, give my parents the proper honor due to them. Their long life has been too colorful to allow for that. Better than words, is to look at lives here that are intimately connected to theirs. To summarize a way of life is to look at its ramifications. The only way to truly appreciate the distance of a journey is to get glimpses of the road taken. None of us who are here tonight has a precise idea of the toll my parents had to pay to afford us the life we know.

 

If we were to use a measure of worldly success, it would be quite easy to conclude that we have done well as a family. My late oldest brother, Yong Tsun, was a successful attorney. I was once appointed a professor of medicine at UCSD, and now am working as the chief of staff of a large Singaporean company in Shanghai. My three younger brothers have made a name for themselves in the Californian culinary landscape with their unique brand of fish tacos. True and lasting success, however, cannot be measured in terms of careers, titles and financial statements. Those will vanish soon enough.

 

We should look, instead, at the lives my parents lived and the decisions that made it possible for us to live in this privileged station. None of this happened in a vacuum. None of this would have been possible if my parents did not have the character traits essential to risk taking. From where we stand, it is almost incomprehensible how it all came to pass from our humble roots in Yangzhou.

 

Our family in China is still composed of peasants and laborers. Surely our personal horizons would have been limited to those choices had my parents stayed in China. Whether they had planned or not, I am quite certain that our welfare and betterment is what motivated both of them to navigate through a world war, a national revolution, poverty, nearly a decade of separation, frugal living, a travel into a distant and unknown culture and work to create a new life for their growing family. For many, one such a proposition would have been more than enough. My parents were immigrants twice. In two very different lands, Brazil and the US, they succeeded in not only making a living, but also creating a haven for their children. We, the children, still do not fully understand how they sheltered us from suffering and poverty. Thanks to them, we have never known a day of need.

 

How did two complete strangers manage to survive these ordeals? My grandparents notified my parents that they were going to marry each other. They were not consulted. Neither had so much as glanced at the other. The kind of romance that Hollywood inebriates us with was not what they were handed when they exchanged their vows. What they got instead was a fragmented world in which to test their mettle.

 

In all my growing years, I have never seen my parents kiss under the moonlight. I have never seen them waltz under a canopy of stars. I have never witnessed them making romantic overtures to each other. I often wondered, as a young man, why the culture of my parents was so guarded with human affections. I learned, as I watched them, that there are other factors that lend strength to a marriage.

 

What sixty years of marriage, nearly fifty of which I have been a part of, has taught me is that love and devotion have other ways to mark their presence. My parents are far from perfect. They have had their trying moments in this marriage, I am quite sure. I am just as sure that they never doubted they were going to make it work. Through the years, they have remained fiercely loyal to each other. Each deficiency was buttressed by the other’s strength. Each failure used as a fuel toward future success. That is the fundamental reason, as I see it, that so many of the head winds of life have been turned to tail winds in their favor. They did not grow weary, but persevered. Their patience, long-suffering, love and tenacity is the reason we are here to celebrate this momentous occasion. This expression of love and devotion, so rare in our days, has not been lost to us. It may not be romantic or sentimental, but it is made of the stuff that carries a family the long distance ahead.

 

Their journey made our heritage rich and unique. We have China to thank for my parents, Brazil to thank for our coming into their arms, and the US for giving us the home we now cherish.

 

I regret that most of the family has not visited Yangzhou. That is the only way to gain a fair appreciation of their personal great leap forward. At the end of their unbelievable, nearly impossible journey, we stand as grateful heirs to a world of possibilities their personal journey opened up for us.

 

(I would like now to ask all of those who are immediate relatives to stand. Secondly, all of the spouses and significant others. I now propose a toast to Mr and Mrs Lee.)

 

We thank you for your lives. We congratulate you on this special milestone of your marriage. We wish you both many more enjoyable years ahead. 

 

Chloe the beauty 1 and JoAnne the beauty 2.

Said to be for my" wedding". If any. Some day.  Mom is always so sweet................. I am proud of her.

 

 

Both are very very commercialized.

But the scenery is really worth seeing despite the tricky vendors, cabbies, etc.

Really had a great time.

Work for more travel. Travel for better work.

One

Paris, February 17^th 1903

 

MY DEAR SIR,

 

YOUR LETTER only reached me a few days ago. I want to tan you for its great and kind confidence. I can hardly do more. I cannot go into the nature of your verses; for all critical intention is too far from me. With nothing can one approach a work of art so little as with critical words: they always come down to more or less happy misundstandings. Things are not all so comprehensible and expressible as one would mostly have us believe; most events are inexpressible, taking place in a realm which no word has ever entered, and more inexpressible than all else are works of art, mysterious existence, the life of which, while ours passes away, endures.

 

After these prefatory remarks, let me only tell you further that your verses have no individual style, although they do show quiet and hidden beginning of something personal. I feel this mostly in the last poem, “My Soul.” These something of your own wants to come through to word and melody. And in the lovely poem “To leopardi’ there does perhaps grow up a sort of kinship with that great solitary man. Nevertheless the poems are not yet anything on their own account, nothing independent, even the last and the one to Leopardi. You kind letter, which accompanies them, does not fail to make clear to me various shortcomings which I felt in reading verses without however being able specifically to name them.

 

You ask whether your verses are good. You ask me. You have asked others before. You sent them to magazines. You compare them with other poems, and you are disturbed when certain editors reject your efforts. Now (since you have allowed me to advise you) I beg you to give up all that. You are looking outward, and that above all you should not do now. Nobody can counsel and help you , nobody. There is only one single way. Go into yourself. Search for the reason that bids you write; find out whether it is spreading out its roots in the deepest places of your heart, acknowledge to yourself whether you would have to die if it were denied you to write. This above all – ask yourself in the stillest hour of your night: must I write? Delve into yourself for a deep answer. And if this should be affirmative, if you may meet his earnest question with a strong and simple “I must”, then build your life into its most indifferent and slightest hour must be a sign of this urge and testimony to it. Then draw near to Nature. Then try, like some first human being, to say what you see and experience and love and lose. Do not write love – poems; avoid at first those forms that are too facile and commonplace; they are the most difficult, for it takes a great, fully matured power to give something of your own where goo and even excellent traditions come to mind in quantity. There fore save yourself from those general themes and seek those which your own everyday life offers you; describe all these with loving, quite, humble sincerity, and use , to express yourself, the things in your environment, the images from your dreams, and the objects of your memory. If your daily life seems poor, do not blame it; blame yourself, tell yourself that you are not poet enough to call forth its riches; for to the creator there is no poverty and no poor indifferent place. And even if you were in some prison that walls of which let none of the sounds of the world come to your senses – would you not then still have your childhood, that precious, kingly possession, that treasure –house of memories? Turn your attention thither. Try to raise the submerged sensations of that ample past; your personality will grow more firm, your solitude will widen and will become a dusky dwelling past which the noise of others goes by far away.—And if out of this turning inward, out of his absorption into your own world verses come, then it will not occur to you to ask anyone whether they are good verses. Nor will you try to interest magazines in your poems: for you will see in them your fond natural possession, a fragment and a voice of your life. A work of art is good if it has sprung from necessity. In this nature of its origin lies the judgment of it: there is no other. Therefore, my dear sir, I know no advice for you save this: to go into yourself and test the deeps in which your life takes rise; at its source you will find the answer to the question whether you must create. Accept it, just as it sounds, without inquiring into it. Perhaps it will turn out that you are called to be an artist then take that destiny upon yourself and bear it, its burden and its greatness, without even asking what recompense might come from outside. For the creator must be a world for himself and find everything in himself and in Nature to whom he has attached himself.

 

But perhaps after this descent into yourself and into your inner solitude you will have to give up becoming a poet; (it is enough, as I have said, to feel that one should live without writing: then one must not attempt it at all). But even then this inward searching which I ask of you will not have been in vain. Your life will in any case find its own ways thence, and that they may be good, rich and wide I wish you more than I can say.

 

What more shall I say to you? Everything seems to me to have its just emphasis; and after all I do and seriously throughout your whole development; you cannot disturb it more rudely than by looking outward and expecting form outside replies to questions that only your inmost feelings in your most hushed hour can perhaps answer.

 

It was a pleasure to me to find in your letter the name of Professor Horacek; I keep from that loveable and learned man a great veneration and a gratitude that ensures through the years. Will you, please, tell him how I fee; it is very good of him still to think of me, and I know how to appreciate it.

 

The verses which you kindly entrusted to me I am returning to you at the same time. And I thank you once more for your great and sincere confidence, of which I have tried, through this honest answer given to the best of my knowledge, to make myself a little worthier than, as a stranger, I really am.

 

Yours faithfully and with all sympathy：

Rainer Maria Rilke

 

How these letters came to be written is told by their recipient in his introduction, and to this there would be nothing to add where it not for the close of the eighth letter: " Do not believe that he who seeks to comfort your lives untroubled among the simple and quiet words that sometimes do you good. His life has much difficulty and sadness. ...Where it otherwise he would never have been able to find those words." It is evident that a great artist, whatever the immediate conditions disturbing his own life, may be able to clarify for the benefit of other those fundamental truths the conviction of which lies too deep in his consciousness to be reached by external agitations. Though Rilke expresses himself with a wisdom and a kindness that seem to reflect the calm self-possession, his spirit may be have been speaking out of its own need rather than from the security of ends achieved, so that his words indeed reflect desire rather than fulfillment. In what sort this was the case becomes apparent on perusal of the several volumes of his correspondence. From these , for the most part, the accompanying chronicle of the years 1903-1906 has been prepared. It shows what Rilke was going through in his own relationship to life and work at the period in question (he turned twenty -eight in December, 1903). Perhaps such a record may in a measure explain, too, why sympathy was always so responsive an element of his nature. Certainly - despite low physical vitality that often reduced him to actual ill-health, despite lack of funds and homeless wondering in search of the right places and circumstances for his work, despite all the subjective fret and hindrance because of which some think to see in him a morbidly conditioned fantasy - the legend of the weary poet is dispelled, and in the end we find him always young, always constructive, the eminently positive philosopher of those letters.

 

New York, October, 1934

Dr. Lee shared this book with me. I am loving it...