"TrojanDownloadery" atakujÄ

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Oryginalna treść artykułu: "TrojanDownloadery" atakują

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Dołączył: 19 Lis 2009 Posty: 5

To this day I remember my mum''s letters. It all started in December 1941. Every night she sat at the big table

in the kitchen and wrote to my brother Johnny, who had been drafted that summer. We had not heard from him since

the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor.

I didn''t understand why my mum kept writing Johnny when he never wrote back.

"Wait and see-we''ll get a letter from him one day," she claimed. Mum said that there was a direct link from the

brain to the written word that was just as strong as the light God has granted us. She trusted that this light

would find Johnny.
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I don''t know if she said that to calm herself, dad or all of us down. But I do know that it helped us stick

together, and one day a letter really did arrive. Johnny was alive on an island in the Pacific.

I had always been amused by the fact that mum signed her letters, "Cecilia Capuzzi", and I teased her about that.

"Why don''t you just write ''Mum''?" I said.

I hadn''t been aware that she always thought of herself as Cecilia Capuzzi. Not as Mum. I began seeing her in a

new light, this small delicate woman, who even in high-heeled shoes was barely one and a half meters tall.

She never wore make-up or jewelry except for a wedding ring of gold. Her hair was fine, sleek and black and

always put up in a knot in the neck. She wouldn''t hear of getting a haircut or a perm. Her small silver-rimmed

pince-nez only left her nose when she went to bed.
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Whenever mum had finished a letter, she gave it to dad for him to post it. Then she put the water on to boil, and

we sat down at the table and talked about the good old days when our Italian-American family had been a family of

ten: mum, dad and eight children. Five boys and three girls. It is hard to understand that they had all moved

away from home to work, enroll in the army, or get married. All except me.

Around next spring mum had got two more sons to write to. Every evening she wrote three different letters which

she gave to me and dad afterwards so we could add our greetings.

Little by little the rumour about mum''s letters spread. One day a small woman knocked at our door. Her voice

trembled as she asked: "Is it true you write letters?"

"I write to my sons."
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"And you can read too?" whispered the woman.

"Sure."

The woman opened her bag and pulled out a pile of airmail letters. "Read… please read them aloud to me."

The letters were from the woman''s son who was a soldier in Europe, a red-haired boy who mum remembered having

seen sitting with his brothers on the stairs in front of our house. Mum read the letters one by one and

translated them from English to Italian. The woman''s eyes welled up with tears. "Now I have to write to him,"

she said. But how was she going to do it?
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"Make some coffee, Octavia," mum yelled to me in the living room while she took the woman with her into the

kitchen and seated her at the table. She took the fountain pen, ink and air mail notepaper and began to write.

When she had finished, she read the letter aloud to the woman.

"How did you know that was exactly what I wanted to say?"

"I often sit and look at my boys'' letters, just like you, without a clue about what to write."
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A few days later the woman returned with a friend, then another one and yet another one--they all had sons who

fought in the war, and they all needed letters. Mum had become the correspondent in our part of town. Sometimes

she would write letters all day long.

Mum always insisted that people signed their own letters, and the small woman with the grey hair asked mum to

teach her how to do it. "I so much want to be able to write my own name so that my son can see it." Then mum held

the woman''s hand in hers and moved her hand over the paper again and again until she was able to do it without

her help.
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After that day, when mum had written a letter for the woman, she signed it herself, and her face brightened up in

a smile.

Today all mum''s letters are lost. But those who got them still talk about her and cherish the memory of her

letters in their hearts.

All Mum’s Letters

Dołączył: 05 Gru 2009 Posty: 5

Jacob Have I Loved
Our story is called Jacob Have I Loved ,by Katherine Paterson. It received the Newbery Award for the best book written for young people in the United States. The story takes place on Rass Island in the Chesapeake Bay along the eastern coast of the United States, near Maryland and Virginia. The story is told by Sara Louise Bradshaw, a 13-year-old girl who lives with her parents and her twin sister Caroline. Here is Gwen Outen with the story.
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Rass Island lies as low as the back of a turtle on the dark green water of the Chesapeake Bay. We Bradshaws have lived here for more than two hundred years. I love Rass Island although for much of my life I did not think I did.

During the summer of 1941, every morning McCall Purnell and I would get my small boat and go out to catch shellfish called crabs. Watermen on our island sell crabs and eat crabs. Call and I were right smart crabbers and we could always come home with a little money as well as crabs for dinner. My mother was pleased with money I made.

"My!" she said, "that was a good morning. By the time you wash , we'll be ready to eat!" I like the way she did that. replica rolex,She never said I was dirty or that I smelled bad. Just by the time you wash up.

She was a real lady my mother, she had come to teach in the island school and fell in love with my father. What my father needed more than a wife was sons. What my mother gave him was girls--twin girls! I was older than my sister by a few minutes. I always treasure the thought of those minutes. They were the only time in my life when I was the center of everyone's attention. From the moment Caroline was born, she took all the attention for herself. When my mother and grandmother told the story of our births, it was mostly of how Caroline had refused to breathe.

"But where was I?" I asked my mother. replica rolex,
"In the basket," she said, "Grandma dressed you and put you in the basket."

Caroline's true gift was her voice. Our teacher, Mr. Rice, said she should have singing lessons. I was proud of my sister, but something began to hurt me under the pride.

One day, Mama and Caroline came back to the island on a boat after Caroline’s singing lesson. There was an old man on the boat whom I'd never seen before. Our island held few secrets or surprises beyond the weather. But all the old people agreed that he was Hiram Wallace . My friend Call and I started visiting Hiram Wallace. We decided simply to call him the Captain.

The Captain stayed at our house when the big storm hit in 1942. Afterward, we took my little boat heading straight for the Captain's house. But nothing was left at the spot where the Captain's house had stood the night before. Even with his white beard the Captain looked like a little boy trying not to cry.
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Not long after that, the Captain married Trudy Braxton who lived on the island. She was not well and did not live long. Soon the Captain came up the path to our house, his face red with excitement. He told my mother and me that Trudy left a little money. ''There is enough for Caroline to go to boarding school in Baltimore, Maryland and continue her music.'' said the Captain.

I sat there as surprised as if he had thrown a rock in my face! ''Caroline!''

My grandmother came up close behind me. I stiffened at the sound of her hoarse whisper. ''Romans 9-13,'' she said. She repeated the saying from the Christian Bible about the competition between two brothers for their father's love. ''Jacob Have I Loved, but Esau have I hated''.

I had always believed the Captain was different. But he, like everyone else, had chosen Caroline over me.

In the autumn I left school, I spent the winter catching oysters, another kind of shellfish, with my father. That strange winter with my father on his boat was the happiest of my life. I was, for the first time, deeply satisfied with what life was giving me. Part of it was the things I discovered. Who would have believed that my father sang while catching oysters! My quiet father whose voice could hardly be heard in church sang to the oysters! It was a wonderful sound!
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I did not want to go back to school, so my mother taught me at home. I passed the test for graduation with the highest grades recorded from Rass Island.

The war in Europe ended in 1945. At the end of crab season Call came home from the war. The body of a large man in uniform was filling the door.
''Call,'' I cried, ''Oh my blessed Call, you have grown up!'' ''That's what the navy promised,'' he said.

Call told the Captain he had stopped to see Caroline. His face burned with happiness when he told the Captain ''She said YES to me,'' he said softly, ''I guess it is hard for you to think someone like Caroline might like me.''

I went back to the crab house. Soon after Call and Caroline were married, the Captain said to me, ''This is hard for you, isn't it? What is it you really want to do?''

I was totally empty. What was it I really wanted to do?

''Your sister knew what she wanted,'' said the Captain, ''so when the chance came she could take it. Do not tell me no one ever gave you a chance, Sara Louise. You can make your own chances. But first you have to know what you are after, my dear.''

''I would like to see the mountains,'' I said, and then my dream began to form along with the sentence, ''I might, I want to be a doctor.''

''So what is stopping you?'' the Captain asked.
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I realized that under all my dreams of leaving home, I was afraid to go. My mother had told me that she had chosen to leave her people and build the life for herself somewhere else. ''I certainly would not stop you from making the same choice,'' my mother said to me now, ''but all we will miss you, your father and I.''

I wanted so to believe her, ''As much as you miss Caroline?''

Jacob Have I Loved