Happiness may be just a phone call
幸福只是打一个电话
T he telephone rang and I reached to answer it.
“Hi， Steve，” said the voice on the other end. “I just wanted to see how you’re getting along.”
I had not heard from my old friend for many months. It was good to talk to him. I wondered why hadn’t we kept in touch better.
Toward the end of the conversation， he said， “If you need me in any way， I’ll be happy to help out.” And he meant it！
That call came at just the right time， as they so often do. I needed those words of encouragement. I hung up the phone， feeling a satisfying lump1 of warmth in my chest.
And that day I relearned something important about life： life is primarily about people—not plans and schedules， not to-do lists and a million tasks left undone—it’s about people.
To love and to know that we are loved is the greatest happiness of existence. And happiness seems to be something that is in short supply for too many of us！ My friend reminded me that it is never enough just to love； we must also express it. What good are our affectionate feelings toward others if we don’t find ways to let them know？
George William Childs put it like this： “Do not keep the alabaster3 box of your love and friendship sealed up4 until your friends are dead. Fill their lives with sweetness. Speak approving， cheering words while their ears can hear them and while their hearts can be thrilled and made happier. The kind things you mean to say when they are gone， say before they go.”
Happiness may be just a phone call.
电话铃响了，我伸手去接。
“嗨，史蒂夫，”电话那头有个声音说。“我只是想看看你过得怎么样。”
我已经有好几个月没有收到老朋友的消息了。跟他说话的感觉真好。我不知道我们为什么没有经常联系。
谈话快结束的时候，他说：“只要你需要我，我都会很高兴地伸出援手的。”他是真心诚意的。
像往常一样，那个电话来得正是时候。我需要那些鼓励的话语。我挂上电话，心里热乎乎的，觉得很满足。
那天，我重新认识了生活中某些重要的东西：生活首先是关于人的——不是计划，也不是进度，不是要做的事情清单以及待做的无数的任务——它是关于人的。
去爱、知道自己被爱着是存在的最伟大的幸福。幸福似乎就是供不应求的某种东西！我的朋友提醒我，光有爱是绝对不够的。我们还得表达出来。如果没有办法让他们知道，那么我们对他们怀有一腔爱意又有什么用呢？
乔治？威廉？蔡尔德曾这样形容道：“如果你爱你的朋友们，就勇敢地说出来，不要在他们离开你的时候才后悔你曾经吝惜过你的爱和友谊。让他们的生活因有你的爱而变得甜蜜。在他们欢欣雀跃时，说出你的赞扬和鼓励，不要等友人离去时才追悔莫及。”
幸福……也许只是打一个电话。
Hold more merciful than angry
仁慈比恼怒更持久
I had always wanted to settle down in my hometown. A house became available across the street from my childhood home， but I was apprehensive about the realtor， our former neighbor， Mrs Knight.
My brother， Guy， and I could never contain our baseball playing to our own property. But we were careful to stay clear of Mrs Knight’s yard. Her husband had suffered several strokes and whenever he fell out of his wheelchair or bed， Mrs Knight called us over to help her lift him. Besides that， she kept to herself， and her gardening.
One day Guy threw my brand-new baseball right in Mrs Knight’s flowers！ I tiptoed into her yard only to have her burst onto the porch. “What are you doing？” she demanded. I mumbled something， turned tail and ran.
My guilt came back to me while Mrs Knight showed me the house for sale. Afterward， she invited me over for lemonade. I politely obliged， hoping she wouldn’t reminisce about the time I ruined her flowers.
In her kitchen， she opened a drawer and pulled out an aged baseball. “I found this in my flower bed years ago，” she said， “When I needed strength I looked at it and remembered the boys who had always been there for my husband and me.” She tossed me the ball， “I always know what a comfort you were.”
I keep that ball on my bookshelf. And it is a reminder that kindness outlives.
我一直想在家乡安居。在我儿时的家所在街道的对面有一所房子正在转让，但我害怕房主——我们以前的邻居，奈特夫人。
我和哥哥盖伊打棒球从来不可能不超出我们自己家的小院，但我们很小心地不让球侵入奈特夫人家的院子。她丈夫中风好几次了，不管什么时候，只要他从轮椅或者从床上跌下来，奈特夫人都会喊我们过去帮她扶起他。除此之外，其他事情她都自己做，包括打理花园。
一天，盖伊将我那个崭新的棒球不偏不倚正好扔到奈特夫人的花丛里去了！我蹑手蹑脚地走进她家院子，但还是被她发现了。她冲到走廊上，问道：“你在干什么？”我嘟哝着转身而逃。
当奈特夫人带我看待售的房子时，内疚感又涌上心头。后来，她邀请我过去喝柠檬水。我礼貌地去了，心里暗暗地希望她不会想起我毁坏她花草的事。
在她家的厨房里，她打开一个抽屉，拿出一个陈旧的棒球。“这是我多年前在花床里找到的，”她说，“当我需要力量时，我就看看它，想想那两个总是过来帮我和我丈夫的小男孩。”她把棒球扔给我，“我一直知道你们俩是多么令人安慰。”
我把那个棒球放在书架上。它让我记得仁慈比恼怒更持久。
A cab traveling
计程车之行
Twenty years ago， I drove a cab for a living. It was a cowboy’s life， a life for someone who wanted no boss. Because I drove at night， my cab became a moving confessional. Passengers climbed in， sat behind me and told me about their lives， though I didn’t know their names at all. I met people whose lives amazed me， ennobled me， made me laugh and weep. But none touched me more than a woman I picked up late one August night.
I was responding to a call from a small brick house in a quiet part of town. I thought I was being sent to pick up some partiers， or someone who had just had a fight with a lover， or a worker heading to an early shift at some factory for the industrial part of town. When I arrived at 2：30 a.m.， the building was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window.
Under such circumstances， many drivers would just honk once or twice， wait a minute， then drive away. But I had seen too many poor people. They depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger， I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my help， I reasoned to myself. So I walked to the door and knocked.
“Just a minute，”answered a weak， elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause， the door opened. A small woman in her 80s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a hat with a veil， like somebody out of a 1940s movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The house looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were even no clocks on the walls. In the corner was a box filled with photos and glassware.
