Peter Byford was born in a stone house in Honley，and when he was tiny his dad，a former miner，got a job in the textile trade and the Byford's moved to Skelmanthorpe.Life was tough but fun，and young Peter spent his days in the rolling countryside，rafting on the river，making tree camps or playing on his own with his model railway and soldiers.

     His world was rocked by tragedy when his mother died，which destroyed young Peter，a shy child who suddenly had to grow up fast.Though grieving，he went up the road to live with his aunt and uncle，and returned home much too young to face the next challenge，that of looking after his dad，who had lost an arm in an accident in a factory.

     By then he had taken the nickname as Biff.The younger Biff struggled at school because of his shyness，but loved the music lessons and became friends with a classmate whose brother had a guitar.At the same time a young man who had a banjo(班卓琴)moved into the house opposite where he lived and he taught young Biff how to play it.The seeds had been sown and music began to influence his life.

     But even so，his working career began，in typical fashion for 1960s West Yorkshire.After a short time as an apprentice(学徒)carpenter，he went to work in the local weaving factory.And this was where Biff Byford，soon to become a legend in the world of rock，first learned to sing.The machines would run all day，clickety­clack，clickety­clack.The noise was incredible，and the workers would spend their time trying to lip read each other.

     It was just so noisy in there.It was really heavy metal.The only thing to do was sing to yourself.So sing to himself he did，the melodies(旋律)locking in place in his head，not to be forgotten.His dream first exploded into a rocking reality.

    John Blanchard stood up from the bench, straightened his Army uniform, and studied the crowd of people making their way through Grand Central Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he didn't, the girl with the rose.

    His interest in her had begun thirteen months before in a Florida library. Taking a book off the shelf he found himself intrigued, not with the words of the book, but with the notes penciled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and insightful mind. In the front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's name, Miss Hollis Maynell. With time and effort he located her address. She lived in New York City. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to correspond. The next day he was shipped overseas for service in World War II.

    During the next year and one month the two grew to know each other through the mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A romance was budding. Blanchard requested a photograph, but she refused. She felt that if he really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked like.

    When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they scheduled their first meeting -- 7:00 PM at the Grand Central Station in New York. “You'll recognize me,” she wrote, “by the red rose I'll be wearing on my lapel.” So at 7:00 he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart he loved, but whose face he'd never seen.

    I'll let Mr. Blanchard tell you what happened: A young woman was coming toward me, her figure long and slim. Her blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue as flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit she was like springtime come alive. I started toward her, entirely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a rose. As I moved, a small, attractive smile curved her lips. “Going my way, sailor?” she murmured.

    Almost uncontrollably I made one step closer to her, and then I saw Hollis Maynell. She was standing almost directly behind the girl. A woman well past 40, she had graying hair tucked under a worn hat. She was more than plump, her thick-ankled feet thrust into low-heeled shoes. The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as though I was split in two, so keen was my desire to follow her, and yet so deep was my longing for the woman whose spirit had truly companioned me and upheld my own.

    And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, her gray eyes had a warm and kindly twinkle. I did not hesitate. My fingers gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was to identify me to her.

    This would not be love, but it would be something precious, something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and must ever be grateful. I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book to the woman, even though while I spoke I felt choked by the bitterness of my disappointment. “I'm Lieutenant（中尉）John Blanchard, and you must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me; may I take you to dinner?”

    The woman's face broadened into a tolerant smile. “I don't know what this is about, son,” she answered, “but the young lady in the green suit who just went by, she begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test!”

    It's not difficult to understand and admire Miss Maynell's wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen in its response to the unattractive. “Tell me whom you love,” Houssaye wrote, “And I will tell you who you are.”

    Well-known for historic architecture and chocolates, Lviv, Ukraine's official capital of culture, looks, smells, and tastes like the best of Europe. Indeed, its western flavor has earned it the title "Little Paris of Ukraine".

    For centuries Lviv, located 50 kilometers from the Poland-Ukraine border, was an important stopping point on the main trade routes between the east and west. During the Renaissance, the city could afford Italy's finest architects because every merchant passing through was forced to stay and sell their goods for at least two weeks. "It was a very smart move to collect money from them," said Yaroslav Hrytsak, a local historian, adding, "It kept the wealth in the city, and that wealth has been transformed into architectural richness."

    Many historic buildings remain but Lviv's prosperity didn't survive its bloody history. Over the centuries, the city fell under the rule of Poland, Austria, Austria-Hungary, Russia and the Nazi Germany. In addition, both Sweden and Turkey tried unsuccessfully to conquer the city. Then for almost half a century Lviv was ruled by the Soviet Union (苏联). With that, the city was condemned to relative obscurity(无闻). But recently things have started to change. Lviv experienced a sudden 40% increase in tourism in early2010, which was the highest rate in Europe. Just last month, its gates opened even wider, when Lviv became a host city for the Euro 2012 football championships.

    So how has this happened? With the Soviet collapse, some saw new opportunities for reviving Lviv's former wealth and fame.

    Limelight networks is a US-founded company. It's one of many digital tech firms to have opened offices in Lviv over the past few years. "It had good growth and experience in the US, however, the company needs more talent to do the new cool projects and products for our customers. This is why we're here in Ukraine." said CEO of Limelight networks.

    Lviv's unexpected abundance of I.T. talent is in fact a legacy(遗产) of the former Soviet Union. To help the military, many Soviet universities focused on turning out world-class engineers and Lviv's university is still producing them. Now, the city is home to 23 higher education institutions. It's clear that the city of Lviv does not intend to remain a hidden jewel for much longer.

    It was a hot, humid day, and my brother Walt and I had decided that the only way to survive it would be to go swimming in a deep swimming hole across Mr. Blickez's pasture(牧场) and through some woods.

    The only problem with our plan was that this pasture was guarded by a huge, mean Hereford bull. Mr. Blickez had told us that Elsie was the meanest bull in the township, maybe even the county, and we believed him. But the hotter it got, the more we thought there was something fishy about his claim. For one thing, we remembered Mr. Blickez liked telling tall tales; for another, Elsie seemed like an odd name for a bull.

    Finally, I talked Mom into asking permission for us to walk through the pasture, but then another problem surfaced. Mom said she would talk to Mr. Blickez if we would take our cousin Joanie along with us. Joanie was almost two years older than me and a head taller. If her teasing ever got around my grade school, it would be all over for me. In fact, I still had a headache from a quarrel with her that morning. “I'm not going swimming with that dumb girl cousin.” I told my mom.

    “Either Joanie goes with, or you stay home alone,” Mom said in her serious tone. I gave in and we set out. On our way across the pasture, Walt yelled suddenly. Elsie had approached him quietly and was licking(舔) his back.Joanie and I dove under the wire fence, but while I was on the ground I looked up and saw that Elsie wasn't a big mean bull after all. She was going to keep licking my brother's back as long as he stood still.

    We had many good days growing up and visiting our secret swimming hole guarded by the so-called “big mean bull”. And as it turned out, for a girl cousin, Joanie hasn't been too bad. She's been one of my best friends over the years.

    Desiree was only four when she lost her Dad. Instead of gradually adjusting to his death, Desiree refused to accept it and even wanted to die so as to be with her father. Concerned about her daughter, Rhonda turned to her mother, Trish Moore, for help.

    November 8 of 1993 would have been Ken's 29th birthday. So Trish advised Desiree to send her father a card. Desiree's eyes lit up as she dictated a letter, "Happy birthday, Daddy. I love you and miss you. I hope you get this and can write to me on my birthday." Trish wrote the message and their address on a small piece of paper and tied it to the end of the string on a balloon with a drawing of the Little Mermaid (美人鱼). Finally, Desiree released the balloon.

    On November 12 in eastern Canada, Wade MacKinnon was duck-hunting. Suddenly something in the bushes caught his eye. Curious, he approached to find a silver balloon. The letter finished with a mailing address in Live Oak, California. The balloon traveled 3,000 miles. What a coincidence! A Little Mermaid balloon landed at Mermaid Lake. To help Desiree, the MacKinnons wrote her a letter with a birthday card and an adaptation of The Little mermaid.

    The MacKinnons' package arrived later on Desiree's birthday. The letter read, "Happy birthday from your daddy. You must be wondering who we are. Well, it all started... There are no stores in heaven, so your daddy picked us to do the shopping. We know your daddy loves you very much and wants you to be happy and not sad. Lots of love, the MacKinnons."

    Tears in eyes, Desiree said, "I knew Daddy would find a way not to forget me." Next, Trish began to read the Little Mermaid to her, in which the mermaid was finally carried away by angels. "The mermaid goes to heaven just like Daddy!" Desiree said with delight. She understood then her father was with her always.

    I always feel sorry for world leaders busy dealing with fights between nations. When my three children were young, most days it was hard to keep my house from becoming a battlefield.

    It got worse as they grew older. Three years ago, Zack, then 16, couldn't make it through a day without making his sisters, Alex 11 and Taryn 9, angry.

    My husband and I tried to be understanding the boy at such an age. We reasoned, punished, and left heartfelt notes on his bed about how he was hurting our family. His answer was "I say it because it's true."

    I even tried telling the girls to fight back. Bad idea. Now I had three children at war. Whatever I said to them, they paid no attention. When there was no way out, I told everything to my sister in an e-mail. She replied, "Don't e-mail me. E-mail him."

    Our son was online every day, mailing and talking with his friends. Maybe he would actually hear me this way. I didn't say anything different, but e-mail just took the tension(紧张) away. There'd be no shouting or door banging. Zack wouldn't feel under attack.

    Zack didn't reply for days. When he finally did, his entire message was four small words. I smiled when I read them, "You're right. I'm sorry."

    The children still fought, of course, but Zack changed. Best of all, I now have a better way to talk with not one but three of them. I like it that they don't tune me out as much as they used to. They like not having to listen to me shouting to them. Or as Alex says, "You're so much nicer online."

    All I know is that the house is quiet. But we're talking.