A farmer grew some vegetables in his garden. One day his wife was ill and he had no money. He had to sell some cabbages and carrots in the market. The next morning he took two baskets of vegetables to town, but it was raining hard that afternoon and there were few people in the street. When his vegetables were sold out, it was dark. He bought some medicine and hurried to his village.

    On his way home he saw a person lying on the ground. He placed his baskets on the ground and was going to help the person to get up. At that time he found it was a dead man and there was much blood on his body. He was so afraid that he ran away quickly, without taking his baskets.

    The next afternoon the farmer was sent to the police station. Having shown the baskets, an officer asked, “Are these yours? ” “Yes, sir. ” The farmer answered timidly（胆怯地）. “Have you killed the man?” “No, no, sir.” The farmer said in a hurry. “When did you see the dead man?” “About seven last evening. ” “Did you see who killed the man?” “No, sir. ” The officer brought out a knife and asked, “Have you seen it yet?” “No, sir. ” The officer became angry and told the policemen to beat him up and sent him into prison.

    That evening the officer went on trying. Pointing to the knife, he asked again, “Have you seen it yet?” “ yes, sir.” The officer was happy and asked, “When and where?” “I saw it here this afternoon, sir.”

I suspect that the most basic and powerful way to connect to another person is to listen. Perhaps the most important thing we ever give each other is our attention, and especially if it's given from the heart. When people are talking, there's no need to do anything but listen to them. Just take them Just listen to what they're saying and care about it. Most times caring about it is even more important than understanding it. Most of us don't value ourselves or our love enough to know this. It has taken me a long time to believe in the power of the simply saying "I'm so sorry" when someone is in pain, and meaning it.

    One of my patients told me that when she tried to tell her story, people often interrupted to tell her that they had once had something just like that happen to them. Eventually she stopped talking to most people. She was just too lonely. We connect through listening. When we interrupt what someone is saying to let them know that we understand, we move the focus of attention to ourselves. When we listen, they know that we care. Many people with cancer can talk about the relief of having someone just listen.

    I have ever learned to respond to someone crying by just listening. In the old days I used to reach for the tissues(纸巾), until I realized that passing a person a tissue may be just another way to shut them down, to take them out of their experience of sadness and grief. Now I just listen. When they have cried all they need to cry, they find me there with them.

    A day in the life of 18-year-old David Lanster is full if typical teenage stuff: school, baseball practice and homework. And then he starts cooking. “Some nights I'm up until 1:00 a.m. making pies, or even later if we're cooking beef,” said the student at Ransom Everglades High School in Florida, US.

    For the past year, Lanster and Kelly Moran, his classmate, have been hosting fancy dinner parties at Lanster's parents' home. Their meals have 17 courses and are all made by them. Their guests used to give them gifts to thank them until the pair decided to do something nice for charity（慈善）. “We got some really great Miami Heat tickets, a nice watch, and many kitchen gadgets（小器具）,” Lanster said. “But we wanted to make this something positive for people other than us.”

    Lanster and Moran focused on Common Threads, a charity that aims to teach kids in poor communities to cook and make healthy eating choices. The young cooks ask their guests to give however much they want as payment for their meals. It all goes to Common Threads because Lanster's parents cover their food costs. After their last 12-person event, Lanster and Moran gave $1,600 to the charity.

    Now, they're taking their show out of the kitchen and on the road. They have started to organize private dinner parties with a similar model: the host pays for the ingredients, and the guests make a donation to a charity of their choice.

    Without formal training, Lanster said he had been interested in cooking since he helped his mom in the kitchen when he was very young. He learned how to cook by reading cookbooks and watching TV programs. Outside the kitchen, the two are busy preparing their college applications. Neither of them is sure what they will do in the future, but they're promised their parents that they will leave professional cooking alone until they finish school.

    Mrs. Jones was my first patient when I started medical school—and I owe her a lot.

    She was under my care for the first two years of my medical training, yet I knew very little about her, except that she was thin, perhaps in her mid 70s. It might seem rather negligent not to know the basic facts of my patient ,but I had a valid reason—Mrs. Jones was dead, and had been dead for about three years before I made a patient of her. Mrs. Jones was the dead body that I dissected（解剖）over the first two years of my medical training.

Of course, her name wasn't really Mrs. Jones, but it seemed a little impolite to be conducting research into someone's body without even knowing its name, so out of courtesy, I thought she should have one. "Me and Mrs. Jones, we've got a thing going on," went the song coming out of the radio as I unzipped the bag of her on my first day — and so she was christened.

As the months passed, I soon forgot that Mrs. Jones had, in fact, once been alive. One day, though, she suddenly became very human again. I'd been dissecting Mrs. Jones a good 18 months before I got around to the uterus（子宫）. After I'd removed it, the professor came up to me, "If you look at the opening carefully, you'll see that the angle indicates that this woman has had several children, probably three." I stared at it, and I suddenly felt very strange. This woman, who had given me something incredibly precious that I'd begun to take for granted, wasn't a dead body. She was a person, a mother, in fact.

    At my graduation, the same professor came over to congratulate me. I explained the story about Mrs. Jones to him, and recalled what he'd told me about her having children and how that had affected me all those years ago.

"Well," he said, "at the beginning of your training you had a dead body and managed to turn it into a person. Now you're a doctor, the trick is to have a person and not turn them into a dead body," and he laughed, shook my hand and walked away.

    Have you ever learned about F. Scott Fitzgerald? F. Scott Fitzgerald, born on September 24, 1896, an American novelist, was once a student of St. Paul Academy, the Newman School and attended Princeton. University for a short while. In 1917 he joined the army and was posted in Alabama, where he met his future wife Zelda Sayre. Then he had to make some money to impress her.

    His life with her was full of great happiness, as he wrote in his diary:" My own happiness in the past often approached such joy that I could share it even with the person dearest to me but had to walk it away in quiet streets and take down parts of it in my diary."

    This side of paradise, his first novel, was published in 1920. Encouraged by its success, Fitzgerald began to devote more time to his writing. Then he continued with the novel the Beautiful and Damned (1922), a collection of short stories Thales of the Jazz Age (1922), and a play The Vegetable (1923). But his greatest success was The Great Gatsby, published in 1925, which quick brought him praise from the literary world. Yet it failed to give him the needed financial security. Then, in 1926, he published another collection of short stories All the Sad Young Men.

    However, Fitzgerald's problems with his wife Zelda affected his writing. During the 1920s he tried to reorder his life, but failed. By 1930, his wife had her first breakdown and went to a Swiss clinic. During this period he completed novels Tender Is the Night in 1934 and The Love of the Last Tycoon in 1940 while his wife was in hospital in the United States, he got totally addicted to alcohol. Sheila Graham, his dear friend, helped him fight his alcoholism.

    Mom wanted only one thing for her birthday. "Can you find me another copy of this song?" she asked, and handed me a worn-out cassette tape. I knew exactly what was recorded on it: My Redeemer. I heard the song played at least a thousand times while growing up. After so many years, the cassette tape was too worn out to be used. I promised her I would find a replacement.

    My Redeemer became Mom's favorite song after my younger brother Tim was killed by a drunk driver in 1973. The only thing that helped her calm down was the soulful sound of My Redeemer from the local radio station. We recorded it on a cassette tape so she could listen to it any time she wanted but none of us knew who the soloist(独唱者) was. These days, I thought the song would be easy to find out. I went home and searched the Internet. Several songs with that title popped up, but none of them was the one Mom loved. I got frustrated.

    Mom's birthday drew near and then one day, I was driving home, listening to our local radio station. A familiar tune came on. It was My Redeemer!As soon as I could, I phoned the station. I got a line on the soloist, who was called Alan Parks. I typed his name into Google and found his home number in South Carolina. Minutes later, I was telling him how much his recording meant to Mom. He offered to ship two CDs out to me personally. I gave him my address. "Red Lion, Pennsylvania?"he said. "Do you know the Logans?""They are our neighbors!""I've been friends with them for 25years," Alan said. "They'll be at my concert at York Gospel Chapel on April 17th. Would you and your mom come too?" We sure would. Mom was excited to hear Alan sing My Redeemer to her, live in concert-on the evening of her 87th birthday.