[Sách] How David and Lily got together? -David và Lily đã đến với nhau như thế nào?

This is the story of how David and Lily got together, or at least, what they always told us. We didn't learn the truth till many years later.
Some years ago a good family moved into the third-floor apartment of the tenement where we lived in the Bronx. David was the son, and he was going to medical school. He was also an avid reader, so he spent most of his free time in the library.
The librarian there was a pretty, soft-spoken young woman named Lily. We kids all loved her. If we couldn't find a book, she would stop whatever she was doing, smile at us warmly and launch a search to find it for us. She was a hard worker.
She also secretly admired our new neighbor, David. Whenever he entered the small library, Lily's eyes lit up and observed his wandering path through the stacks of books. She never struck up a conversation with him, though. She was much too shy, and in those days, a woman didn't talk to a stranger without a formal introduction.
One evening, as Lily was closing up the library, her assistant bent down near the desk to retrieve an unopened envelop off the floor. She showed it to Lily, and they noted that it was sent from a major city hospital.
"It looks so important", the assistant said. "Some poor person is probably looking for it frantically. It must have fallen out of his pocket or book".
Lily glanced at the address of the recipient and was surprised to see it was for the building right next to hers. She took the letter so she could drop it by the man's apartment on her way home.
She turned out the lights, looked up the library and hurried home, where she quickly set down her bags. Clutching the envelope, she ran across the way, entered the front lobby next door and scanned the mailboxes. She found a "Gordon", the same last name listed on the envelope, and rang the bell for that department.

"Who's there?", called out a woman's voice over the scratchy intercom.
'I'm the librarian", Lily answered. "We found a letter on the library floor addressed to a David Gordon. Does the name mean anything to you? The letter looks important".
After a pause, the voice replied: "Yes. Could you bring it up for me, Apartment B3? I fell a few weeks ago and can't walk the stairs".
Lily walked up the three flights of stairs and was greeted at the door by a sweet, older woman who was learning on a crutch.
"Oh, thank you so much", she said. "As you see, I really can't walk the stairs".
Lily smiled. "I understand. Well, here's the letter. Is David Gordon your husband?"
"Oh, no", she answered. "That's my son. We were wondering where the letter went". She looked Lily up and down. "You say you found the letter at the library?"
"Yes", said Lily. "I'm the librarian there, but I live in the building next to you, so it was no trouble to bring you the letter".
'Well, look at us standing here like strangers", the woman said, smiling brightly. "Come and sit for a moment and have some tea. Please".
As she motioned Lily to a chair, the lady talked about the letter. 'When I get mail for my son, I always put it on the kitchen table so he can find it when he comes home. This letter was important, so I struck it in his book. You see, he is going to medical school to be a specialist", she said proudly.
Just then, the door opened, and in walked her son, David. Upon seeing that he was the young man she had admired so long, Lily felt her heart beat faster. His mother excitedly explained to him what had happened to the letter.
David looked at Lily in astonishment. "Gosh! You're from library. Thank you! I was looking high and low for he letter". He turned to his mother. "You see, I was accepted to the hospital's medical program".
Then he turned back to Lily and smiled shyly. "Thanks again, Miss, errrr, I didn't get your name".
"Lily", she said, smiling her warmest smile. Her heart was still pounding, and she felt sure her cheeks was flushed.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Gordon was hobbling around, setting the table for tea and cookies. "Sit! Sit!" she urged the young couple.
"Have you decided which branch of medicine you want to specialize in?" Lily asked David.
"Cardiology", David answered, still smiling. "And this is the letter that wilt start me on my career. I was really worried when I hadn't heard from the hospital. I was considering going out west someplace, but I'd much rather stay at this hospital, here in the city".
And then, out of the blue, David blurted: "Would you care to go to a movie with me Saturday night?"
Before Lily could catch her breath, Mrs, Gordon grabbed her hand and said, "Oh, yes, Lily! Please say yes!"
Lily laughed. "I'd love to!".
And so began Lily and David's life together.
But now for the whole story. After they'd been married twenty-five years, he told us the truth about the letter. David was a cardiovascular specialist by then, and his dear Lily, the mother of their three children, was sitting by his side as he told us.
You see, David wasn't that avid a reader, as it turns out. He just wanted to see that pretty young librarian. He told his mother about the girl at the library, hut he was shy and didn't know how to approach her. His mother devised a scheme. Every time David went to the library, he was to drop an envelope addressed to himself on the floor. David's mother hoped Lily would retrieve it for him, call him over to the desk and give him a chance to strike up a conversation. So David dutifully dropped a letter each time he visited the library, but each time, someone would see the envelope fluttering to the floor and rush to reclaim it for him. 'Oh, sir' he'd hear someone cry out, bu when he turned, it was never Lily.
On that day, David waited till no one was left in the building but Lily and her assistant. Once again, he dropped his letter by the desk. The next day, he hoped, he could come back and ask Lily if she had found an envelope with his name on it. The plan worked far better than he imagined when Lily showed up in person to deliver the letter.
While David was telling this story, his beautiful wife Lily began laughing hysterically.
"David", she said, when she caught her breath. "You didn't seal the envelope very well. We opened it at the library. I saw that there was nothing but a blank piece of paper inside. I was dying to figure out what you were up to, so I played along. David, you were a terrible actor!" She turned her twinkling eyes to her husband's.
"But, oh, David! I loved you so!"
And that is how David and Lily really got together.
--Arnold Fine--
(Following Chicken Soup for the Single's Soul)

--Some words--
hysterically
reclaim
flutter
devise
devise a scheme
strike up
dutifully
grab (v)
blurt (v)
hobble (v)
astonishment (n)
clutch (v)
frantically (adv)

avid (a)
stack of
struck up

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[Sách] Bowled over - Buổi bowling

"I know it's last minute," Carl said timidly when I answered the phone, "but I, um, need a date for tonight". A date? Carl had never once mentioned the "D" word to me before, and it let me speechless. "I hope you're available," he added.
I glanced at the clock. It was after four. How many other numbers had he dialed first? He probably thought, maybe I'll try to call Jan. She's usually home on a Saturday night.
"It's my company party - a bowling party", he said. He needs a date for bowling? "Okay, sure", I replied.
When I hung up the phone my thoughts drifted back to two years ago when Carl first joined our church singles group. He wasn't what you'd call a hunk and didn't have a sparkling personality, but there was an instant tug at my heart. It wasn't his steel blue eyes, the premature gray hair or warm smile that attracted me, but an obvious strength of character. I wanted to know this man.
After the singles meetings, a few of us would meander over to the coffee shop. I'd linger around, making sure I found myself alone with Carl. One night we talked until the late hours, conferring about everything from childhoods to politics to the Bible.
'You have firm options, and you're not afraid to state them", he told me. 'I like that". Feeling as flimsy as a soggy piece of toast, I gazed longingly at him, but I received only congenial smiles in return.
Every week my heart fluttered at his warm "Hello". I know he must be attracted to me, too, but his guy guards his heart like a sentry over the crown jewels.
A few months later at our group's annual hoedown, Carl and I square-danced together most of the night, twirling, tripping and laughing like teenagers.
He offered to drive me home after we cleaned up. "I have a view of the valley from my desk", I said, nudging Carl. "Come and see". As we stood close together, watching the city lights flicker, I thought my anxious heart was about to explode like a pan of sizzling popcorn. This is the perfect moment to sweep me into his arms. Then, abruptly, he said, "I've really got to go now".
"He's driving me crazy", I later told my best friend, Jeanne.
"Could you misinterpreting his attention, just a bit, Jan? He's still healing from a recent divorce. He's got to test the single waters and see which way to steer his boat".
"But, but..." I was about to counter with He likes to be with me, and we have so much in common, and doesn't he realize I'm perfect for him? What was the matter with me? I'd been single again for ten years. A mature, professional woman, a singles group leader, no a schoolgirl dizzy with her first crush.
Jeanne piped in. "Earth to Jan - remember that seminar on dating and healthy relationships? The tricky little "I word?".
Infatuation, the chemistry that turns the sensible into silly. Yes, and it's the mystery, the uncertainty that keep the fires of infatuation going.
"I must be imaging things that just aren't there".
"You're in love with the idea of falling in love".
I suppressed some tears. "I feel like a fool".
"Let it go, Jan. The timing is wrong", Jeanne urged.
Yes, and if Carl was the right man for me, it would happen in God's time with no plotting my part. I asked myself, do I care about Carl enough to want the best for him, even if it is never me? I wrestled with it all night. How is it possible to have a platonic relationship while a medley of feelings dances on my heart?
"Give it to God?", Jeanne said. She was right, but why do fantasies feel so comfortable, like a soft, cuddly lamb's-wool rug in front of a warm fire? It was hard to let go, but even harder to spark a romance with only on flame.
Carl was a popular guy in our group, friendly with everybody, and in the next year he had his share of women chasing him. He did have some dates, but none with me. He was in his single heyday. Finally content to be his pal and cheerleader, life went back to normal.
But then came the telephone call, and that "D" word. I raked over my closet trying to find the perfect bowling outfit. Oh, here I go again, feeling all giddy. After all this time? Get a grip, girl.
We met for dinner at Garcia's, Mexican restaurant near the bowling lanes, and before the fajitas stopped sizzling, the atmosphere shifted. This was not our usual "Let's grab a bite to eat". This was a lingering-over-the-meal, his-eyes-riveted-on-me, soaking-in-my-every-word-as-if-I-hadn't-existed-before kind of thing. This was a real date! While I didn't make any strikes later at the bowling alley, there was a telltale twinkle in his eyes that showed me I'd made a big strike with him. Bowled over, my emotional alarm clock started to go off.
Jeanne was half asleep when she picked up the phone at midnight. "What are you so afraid of?".
"That old floating-on-a-cloud feeling. I don't want to go back there".
"I like you better sane, myself".
There weeks went by and no telephone call from Carl. It figures. He's probably back at Garcia's with somebody else. That's fine. At least I got a nice dinner out of it.
It was time for our singles Saturday social: a trip a San Francisco, a bike ride in Golden Gate Park and an optional dinner on the bay. We rendezvoused at the grocery store parking lot.
"Love Boy just showed up", Jeanne announced as Carl began to unload his bike from the back of his car. I bolstered myself up. Be mildly sociable, but aloof. Let him come to you. After biking along the beachfront, ten of us changed into dinner clothes and boarded a blue-and-gold double-decker boat. As it headed out in the choppy waters, we all stood on the lower deck, watching the blazing sun slip under the Golden Gate Bridge, coloring the sky like a dream. I was spellbound by the lights emerging from the bridge. I barely noticed the music starting to signal dinner being served. I saw Jeanne and the group go below, and suddenly he deck was empty. Except for me and Carl.
A Cold blast of see breeze made me shiver. Carl slid his long arms around my shoulders. This was no begin hug. Suddenly, I froze like a petrified tree.
Gently, he lifted my chin and looked down at me. He's going to kiss me. In the most romantic place in the world he's going to kiss me. Wait a minute. I have a few question ... But I closed my eyes, slipped my arms around his neck and just let it happen.
'I knew you wanted me to do that long ago", he finally said, "But I couldn't. I was nowhere near ready for a committed relationship, and it wouldn't have been fair. I needed time - to become the right man for a woman like you".
Eleven months later we were married. During our wedding vows, Carl said, "Thank you for waiting for me, Jan". When it was my turn, I shared something I'd tucked away in my heart. It was from one of those dating seminars: "Love is a friendship that has caught fire".
-Jan Coleman-
(rewrite from Chicken Soup for the Single's Soul)

Some words:

rendezvous (v)
rake over (v)
outfit (n)
giddy
grip
heyday
pal
cheerleader
fantasy
cuddly
rug
spark
medley (n)
platonic (a)
wrestle (v)
no plotting my part: bất chấp những toan tính của tôi
urge (v)
infatuation
sensible
mystery
pipe in (v)
dizzy
misinterpret (v)
heal (v)
steer (v)
drive (v)
nudge (v)
anxious heart
explode (v)
sizzling popcorn
sweep s.o. into s.th.
abruptly (adv)
guard
sentry
crown
jewel
flimsy
soggy
gaze
congenial (a)
meander (v)
linger (v)
hunk (n)
tug at (v)
sparking personality
drift (v)
hung up (v)
glance (v)
timidly

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[Sách] Seeing10/10 - THỊ LỰC 10/10

Springtime in New York City - my first apartment, a good-paying job and a great-looking girlfriend. It couldn't get much better than that. I had my life figured out. In fact, I felt so good, so magnanimous, that I decided to share my happiness with others. Helping someone less fortunate seemed the noble thing to do. Following a friend's example, I volunteered with the Lighthouse for the Blind.
The friendly volunteers explained they needed help with an outreach program for the elderly - recently blinded shut-ins. Telling myself I'd bring a little joy to some poor, unfortunate senior citizen, I agreed.
The night before my first meeting with the shut-in, my girlfriend and I had a major fight. She stormed out; I sulked. The next morning, I struggled to open my eyes. I had spent most of the night reliving the fight. I was cranky. I dragged myself out of bed to do my volunteer work, but my generous mood had evaporated. I didn't want to visit an old blind man.
Charlie lived in a rough section of Manhattan: the lowest section of the Lower East Side. Dodging delirious winos, occasionally crossing the street to avoid desperate-looking drug addicts, I trudged toward our first meeting. I tried to imagine what Charlie looked like. The coordinator said he was old. At twenty-three, as far as I was concerned, anyone over sixty-five was at death's door. He was definitely over sixty-five, I'd been told. Probably senile, too, I thought to myself.
Well, I'd wasted this Saturday morning, I thought, but I can call the Lighthouse early Monday morning and take myself off the list of volunteers. I climbed the crumbling steps to Charlie's run-down building and began the ascent to his sixth-floor apartment. No elevator.
Shuffling sounds signaled Charlie's approach; a face appeared from behind the graffiti-covered apartment door. I gasped. Cataract-clouded eyes, wispy white hair. He was ancient. Charlie wasn't just sixty-five; he was sixty-five years older than I was. He was eighty-eight.
He ushered me into his surprisingly tidy apartment. I couldn't help admitting it looked neater than mine, and I wasn't blind. Sitting on a slightly musty sofa, Charlie told me how he'd lost his vision and wife of more than fifty years, all in the previous ten months. He told me the past without a trace of self-pity.
I tried to imagine the tragedy of his life, thinking that I'd be suicidal if I were blind and alone. Charlie interrupted my thoughts. He was telling me how fortunate he'd been to have such a wonderful marriage for so long. He smiled at me gently, as if sensing my discomfort.
That first day, Charlie and I visited his barber and walked - more than he had walked since his wife's funeral. As we walked, Charlie talked. All of his friends and relatives were gone, with the exception of a son in California. He told me tales of his younger days at sea, his service in World War I and his wonderful wife. Time slipped by. My agreed-upon one-hour visit stretched to three hours.Charlie was a great storyteller, but he was more than that. No matter what life event he shared, he never complained. Never. He was always able to find something positive to say about what had happened to him.
Eventually, Charlie needed a nap, and I left him. As I left, I thought that Charlie's eyes may have been fogged over, but his perspective was 10/10. Just spending a day with him corrected my distorted view of life. I saw all my problems plainly, and my self-pity vanished as I headed home.
Visits with Charlie became the high point of my week; his stories always put things in perspective for me. It's been a long time since I've had to struggle to wake up on a Saturday morning. Life's full of surprises, Charlie often said on our visits. It was true, I knew; no event was as surprising as my reluctant visit that Saturday morning many years ago, when an aging blind man opened my eyes.
-Bill Asenjo-
(From Chicken Soup for the Single's Soul)
Some vocabularies:
magnanimous (a)
fortunate (n)
noble (a)
outreach program (phr.)
shut-in (n)
storm out (v)
sulk (v)
struggle (v)
relive = re + live (v)
cranky (a)
drag s.o. out of s.th to do ...
evaporate (v)
dodging delirious winos (phr.)
desperate-looking
addict (n)
trudge (v)
coordinator (n)
senile (a)
take s.o. off (phr.)
crumble
run-down building
gasp (v)
wispy (a)
usher (v)
neat (a)
musty (a)
tragedy (n)
suicidal (a)
barber (n)
funeral (n)
tale (n)
slip by (v)
agreed-upon
fog over (v)
perspective (a)
vanish (v)
reluctant (a)

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