【推荐2】When family members shared stories of their beloved father and uncle Hody Childress during his funeral (葬礼), they were in for a surprise. They learned that Hody, despite his financial circumstances, had been donating money to Geraldine Drugs for anyone who needed help paying for their medicines. He started making donations monthly about seven or eight years ago.

“He told me he never wanted anyone to know where the money came from when it was given,” Brooke, the drugstore owner, said. “He also didn’t want to know how it was used. He told me to use my judgment.”

Over time the secret fund (基金) grew to thousands of dollars and thus helped even more people in need. Hody’s kind heart definitely blessed a lot of people in his community. Brooke talked about a time when that secret fund was needed more than ever.

“There once was a young, single mom. She and her daughter both needed a kind of medicine that they couldn’t afford. So we used the fund. When I handed her the medicine, she started crying. That’s not even the best part. Several months later, she returned to pay it forward. She wanted money added back to the account. She didn’t have to do that, but she had a desire to help others in difficult situations. I believe that Hody sparked that in her heart, and that she will carry that forward her entire life. ”

After the funeral, news of Hody’s giving spread and has inspired his family, friends, and others to start contributing to his fund to allow it to continue as a community resource.

Brooke said that he could not think of a better way to honor Hody. “There are so many people in Geraldine who have lived longer because of Hody. He will always be remembered and loved.”

【推荐3】When we were growing up, my mom focused most of her energy on the organization like the church, the school or the community. I remember her comment whenever I complained about the volunteer activities. “It’s for the church.” Or “It’s for the school.” So my brother ran the sound equipment for the school’s annual Christmas play, my dad made bean soup for the church’s summer festival, and I spent days reorganizing the elementary school library at the end of each school year. How could anyone dare to refuse? Each demand was accompanied by that unspoken question, “If you don’t do it, who will?”

For my mother, volunteering was like breathing or cleaning out the closets each spring. If it needed to be done and you were able to do it, you did it.

Now as an adult and mother of three children, I have raised my hand at more meeting than I care to count. As a Girl Scout leader, I spent my Thursday evening with sixteen energetic Brownies. I baked dozens of cookies to raise money for the school gardening club. If I didn’t do it, who would?

That little question has also encouraged me to take action in other aspects of my life when I would have preferred to just stay in bed. If I don’t cut fat, add calcium (钙), and exercise, who will? If I don’t turn off TV programs that are inappropriate for my children, who will?

Sometimes what comes with that question seems overwhelming (压倒性的). How easy it would be to turn the responsibility of life over to those we all love to reply on: “them”. Let “them” worry about endangered whales. Let “them” pick up roadside garbage. Let “them” serve on the school board. But that isn’t what my mother taught me. If I can do it, I believe I should do it.

After all, if I don’t, who will?

【推荐1】The storm hit, bringing three feet of snow down and cutting off our power. So, though it was around noon, actually still daylight, there was little we could do. We were put into darkness. No television, no heat, no light. No nothing. This was back in the days when people relied on radios only in such situations.

Grandpa Charlie gathered up his winter coat, scarf, and gloves, and disappeared into the snow. A few minutes later, he returned, with wood under his arms. Looking at my brother and me, he said, “Come on, boys. Time to build a fire.”

But the enthusiasm(热情) for the fire wasn’t enough to keep the attention of two young boys, and we were soon badgering Grandpa repeatedly as to what was next. “There’s no TV, Grandpa,” I complained, “what are we going to do?”

“Let’s go camping.” Grandpa said.

It took us only minutes to get our sleeping bags, pillows, and toy animals back. When we returned, Grandpa had rearranged the furniture, clearing an open space in front of the fire. In short order, we had a fine campground.

“Now then,” Grandpa began, unfolding(打开) a strange-looking game board, “who’s up for a little game of checkers(跳棋)?”

For the next hour or so, Grandpa coached us on the fine art of playing checkers. I became a fair player after losing four games in a row. Then, remarkably, I beat Grandpa. When I asked him if he had let me win, he just smiled and set the board up for the next game.

Checkers was soon followed up with the game Hangman. Afterward, Grandpa found his old guitar and sang us some campfire songs. My brother and I did not know the words exactly but we could sing along.

And then, something terrible happened. The power came back on. Mom and Dad gave a cheer. But my brother and I stood there and didn’t move. Grandpa looked at us, smiled, and then slowly, he walked across the room to the light switch and turned it off.

【推荐2】To American ears, hearing the words “Black Grace” used together makes them feel a kind of quiet strength in times of hardship or perhaps a positive cultural stereotype (刻板印象). To choreographer Neil Ieremia, the words represent the joining of two ideas born from personal and cultural conflict.

In New Zealand, where Ieremia grew up in what he describes as “a fairly tough town” northeast of Wellington, black was used to describe brave, daring behavior. In Ieremia’s youth, brave people were called “black”, linking them to the neighborhood’ s heroes, New Zealand’ s great All Blacks, the national rugby (橄榄球) team.

Ieremia was born in New Zealand to Samoan immigrants who arrived in the country during the 1960s. Illnesses kept him from actively participating in the country’s widespread sports culture. This was difficult for a Pacific Island boy living in a neighborhood where boys were expected to be sporty and tough. In this world, he developed a passion for music.

At the age of 19, Ieremia decided to attend dance school. At his first ballet class, the instructor told him he lacked grace. Ieremia wasn’t discouraged. When he started his own dance company in 1995, he looked to his own experiences for a name that would also reflect his ambitions for dance grace and storytelling. Thus Black Grace was born. Since then, he has changed the face of modern dance in New Zealand and turned Black Grace into one of the most recognizable and successful cultural brands.

In the early years of Black Grace, Ieremia struggled with the conflict between Samoan and New Zealand cultures. Questions of how and where one belongs were at the forefront of his work. Ieremia draws inspiration from his Samoan and New Zealand roots to create innovative dance works that reach across social, cultural and generational barriers. The work itself is highly physical, rich in the storytelling traditions of the South Pacific, and expressed with unique beauty and power.