Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta theological institute. Mostrar todas las entradas
Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta theological institute. Mostrar todas las entradas

lunes, 6 de agosto de 2012

The Story: Remembering of No who is the Photo of your Girlfriend After a Time.


Take Your Pick



Por: Shamir Galvá


friend of mine, Karl, was in the army. Unfortunately, he had to serve overseas for six months. At first, his girlfriend, to whom he had been engaged for almost a year, wrote lovingly every two days. Karl waited eagerly for every letter and read them secretly under his blankets every night. After about a month, the letters arrived less frequently and Karl seemed less interested in reading them.

Finally, after about four months, his girlfriend wrote to inform him that she was breaking off their engagement and asked him to return her photo immediately.

Karl went out and collected all the unwanted photos of wives, fiancées, and girlfriends from the other soldiers and carefully put them in an envelope with a note saying:

 “Regret I cannot remember which one is you. Please keep your photo and return the others!”

My sister had a similar problem. Her boyfriend, who got on very well with our father, broke off their engagement after a bitter argument. The next day he came around to ask Dad for some advice.

My sister opened the door. Her former boyfriend asked stiffly, “Is your father in? I have business to discuss with him.”

My sister replied equally coldly, “Unfortunately, my father is away until Thursday.”
“Thank you,” replied the young man, and turned to leave without another word. This was too much for my sister.

“Who shall I say called?” she shouted. 


From: SUCCESS Communicating in English Michael Walker ADDISON-WESLEY PUBLISHING COMPANY 1995




martes, 24 de julio de 2012

The History: A Bad News Letter


A Near Miss


Por: Shamir Galvá


O

ne day, Peter Lenz, a young German from Berlin, was upset when he received some bad news in the mail. It was his call-up papers. He did not have any desire to spend the next two years doing military service somewhere miles away from his home and family, but he could not think of any good excuse. 
He did not suffer from any disability or sickness. He did not know anybody with “influence” who could help him in some way. He and his wife of three months did not have any children, so he could not refer to any special family circumstances.

As soon as he opened the letter, his wife Claudia knew there was something wrong. Peter explained the problem. They had to do something. Anything was better than two years away from home.

Fortunately, Claudia had an idea. She was a diabetic. At the examination, Peter could switch a specimen of her urine for his own and fool the doctors. They would excuse him on medical grounds!

After the examination two days later, peter returned home confident that their trick had worked. He was astonished a week later to receive orders to report for duty in a town 200 miles from home.

An officer explained, “We would have believed that you were diabetic, but not that you were pregnant, too!”


From: SUCCESS Communicating in English Michael Walker ADDISON-WESLEY PUBLISHING COMPANY 1995




The History: the Treasure Island-Chapter 4


Treasure Island

CHAPTER
4



Storming the Inn

Por: Shamir Galvá



The sound drew nearer and nearer. We sat there holding our breath. Then the stick struck sharply upon the inn door. We could hear the handle being turned. The bolt rattled as that awful man tried to enter the inn. Then there was a long silence. The tapping began once again. But to our joy, it slowly died away.

“Mother,” I said, “takes the whole of it and let’s be going.”

That the door was bolted must have seemed unusual to the blind man, but I was glad I had locked it. Still, my mother, frightened as she was, would not agree to take a bit more of the money than what was owed her. She also would not take less. So she continued her count until a low whistle sounded. That was enough—more than enough—for both of us.

“I’ll take what I have,” she said quickly.

“I’ll take this to even our account,” said I, picking up the package from the chest.
  
We raced down the stairs, opened the door, and made our escape. We had not started a moment too soon. The fog that had hidden the inn from view was disappearing. The moon was shining clearly around us. It was only just around the tavern door that a bit of fog still hung about to cover the first few steps of our escape. We saw that beyond the bottom of the hill, we would come forth into the moonlight. I grasped my mother’s hand tightly.

This was not all. We heard the sound of running footsteps coming toward us.

We had just made it to the little bridge near the inn when my mother and run on. I am going to faint.” This was certainly the end for both of us, I thought.

I helped her to the edge of the bank where, sure enough, she gave a sigh and fell on my shoulder. I do not know how I found the strength to do it, and I am afraid I did it roughly—but I managed to drag her a little way under the bridge. There we were partly hidden; and it was there that we had to stay—within earshot of the inn.

I crept back to the bank again and lay down behind a bush. From where I was, I could see the inn.  I had hardly been there a moment when some men arrived.

There were seven or eight of them.

Their feet were beating out of time along the road. A man with a lantern was leading them.

 Three men ran together. Through the mist I could see that the one in the middle was the blind beggar. At the next moment his voice showed me I was right.
“Down with the door!” he cried.

“Aye, aye sir!” answered two or three of the others. Then a rush was made upon the inn.

I saw them wait. They spoke in low whispers, as if they were surprised to find that the door had already been opened, but the wait was brief. The blind man again gave his orders. His voice sounded louder and higher, as if he were filled with rage.

“In, in, in!” the blind man shouted.

I heard a voice shout from inside—“Bill’s dead!” But the blind man swore at them. “Search him, you shirking lubbers, and get the chest,” he cried.

I could hear their feet rattling up our stairs. The window of the captain’s room opened with a shatter of broken glass. A man called, “Pew, they’ve been here before us. I can’t find the map!”

“it’s that boy,” said Pew. “I wish I had put his eyes out. They were here—they had the door bolted when I tried it. Scatter, lads, and find them!”

Just then we again heard that same low whistle that had frightened us when my mother was counting the dead captain’s money. I understood now that it was a warning signal telling of some danger.

“There’s that whistle again,” said one man. “Let’s go.”

“Scatter and look for them,” cried Pew. “If only I had eyes!”

The men began to run. As they did so, the noise of horses could be heard. Almost at the same time came a pistol shot. The men ran in every direction and, in no time, not a sign of them remained—except for Pew.

Pew was tapping up and down the road calling in vain for his friends. Some riders came at a gallop down the hill. Pew turned and, with a cry, rolled into a ditch. He was on his feet in a second, but being very confused, he fell right under the nearest of the oncoming horses. The rider tried to save him but the blind man fell onto his side and moved no more.

I soon saw that they were officers. I leaped up and called loudly to them. They said that they had heard of a strange ship moored at Kitt’s Hole and were going to see whose it was. As for Pew, he was dead—stone dead.

My mother was brought back to the village and with a little cold water and smelling salts; she was soon back to good health. I went back to the inn. Everything was smashed, and I could see at once that we were ruined.

Mr. Dance and a few of the other officers rode as fast as they could to Kitt’s Hole, but when they got there, the ship was already under sail. He called for them to come back. A voice called back to him saying that he had better keep out of the moonlight or he would get some “lead in him.” Then a bullet whizzed by his arm.

Soon after that, the ship was gone.

“And that,” said Mr. Dance, “is just about as good as nothing. They’ve gotten off clean. Only I’m glad I stomped upon Master Pew.”


From: Treasury of Illustrated Classics Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson Adapted by Barbara Green 1996-2004. 





viernes, 20 de julio de 2012

Basic Care for Children 6 Months to 1 Year


BASIC INFANT CARE



Por: Shamir Galvá



W



hen your baby first arrives, you may feel a bit over whelmed by the job of caring for her. Even such routine tasks as diapering and dressing her can fill you with anxiety—especially if you’ve never spent much time around babies before. But it doesn’t take long to develop the confidence and calm of an experienced parent, and you’ll have help. 

While you are in the hospital, the nursery staff and your pediatrician will give you instructions and support your needs. Later, family and friends can be helpful; don’t be bashful about asking for their assistance.

 But your baby will give you the most important information–how she likes to be treated, talked to, held, and comforted. She’ll bring out parental instincts that will guide you quite automatically to many of the right responses, almost as soon as she’s born.

The following sections address the most common questions and concerns that arise during the first months of life.

 From: CARING FOR YOUR BABY AND YOUNG CHILD birth to age 5 1991-1998





The History: The Police False or Maniquies


Mistaken Identify

Por: Albert Shamir Galvá de Jesús




The chief of police in a small country town was not enjoying himself. Traffic was out of control. The police department was suffering from a severe shortage of manpower. Two of his officers had injured themselves in a car accident. Another officer had hurt herself when she tried to stop a runaway horse.


The chief and his deputy were sitting by themselves in the office. They were complaining about how much they had to do and how little money they had to do it with.


“I wake up every morning, look at myself in the mirror, ask myself how I am going to get through the day,” said the chief.


“Have you ever thought about hiring more officers?” suggested the deputy.


“You know we’re just fooling ourselves. We don’t have any money for more officers.”
At just that moment, the cleaning lady put her head in the door. “Why don’t you buy a tailor’s dummy?” she asked. The chief and his deputy looked at each other in amazement as they realized what a great idea it was!


They dressed the dummy in full police uniform, placed it behind the wheel of a spare patrol car, and left it by the roadside. All the speeding stopped. Motorists slammed on the brakes as soon as they saw the car with the cop in it.


Some motorists made real fools of themselves and even stopped to ask for directions!



From: SUCCESS Communicating in English Michael Walker ADDISON-WESLEY PUBLISHING COMPANY  1995





jueves, 19 de julio de 2012

The Babies the Biggest Gift of the Parenthoods


THE GIFTS OF PARENTHOOD



Escrito por: Albert Shamir Galvá de Jesús




Y
our child is the greatest gift you will ever receive. From the moment you first hold this miracle of life in your arms; your world will be broader and richer.
You will experience a flood of feelings, some of wonder and joy and others of confusion and of being overwhelmed and wondering whether you can ever measure up to the needs of your new baby.

These are feelings you could barely imagine before–feelings that no one can truly experience without having a child.

Even describing them is difficult because the bond between parent and child is so intensely personal.

Why do tears come to your eyes the first time your baby smiles or reaches for you? Why are you so proud of her first words? Why does your heart suddenly start to pound the first time you watch her stumble and fall? The answer lies in the unique two-way giving relationship between you and your child.

From: CARING FOR YOUR BABY AND YOUNG CHILD birth to age 5 1991-1998



A Very, Very, Fast, Driver: Jim and Liz



Liz the Fast Driver




Escrito por: Albert Shamir Galvá de Jesús




J


im and Liz are on vacation. Liz is a very fast driver. Unfortunately, the roads in the mountains are full of hairpin turns, and Jim is a very nervous passenger.

“Why doesn’t she slow down?” he asks himself.

“Why don’t we go faster?” shouts Liz.

A mile later, they pass a sign for the freeway. “Why didn’t you take the freeway?” asks Jim.

“Because the freeway doesn’t have so many turns!” replies Liz. “Why don’t you open the window so that we can smell the mountain air?”

“Because you are driving too fast!”

Liz puts her foot down and drives even faster. “Oh, why didn’t I keep my mouth shut?” thinks Jim.

The roads get narrower and steeper. The turns get sharper. “Please, please, why don’t we take it easy?” begs Jim.

“If you’re scared, why don’t you do what I do?” screams Liz.

“What’s that?”

“Close my eyes!”

From: SUCCESS Communicating in English Michael Walker ADDISON-WESLEY PUBLISHING COMPANY  1995


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martes, 17 de julio de 2012

The History: The Treasure Island


Treasure Island

Robert Louis Stevenson

CHAPTER
1


A Fine Excitement in a Quiet Country Life



Escrito por: Albert Shamir Galvá de Jesús




I, Jim Hawkins, will write my tale. I will keep nothing back from you except the location of Treasure Island. I cannot tell you this because there are still treasures there to be found. My story begins long ago when my father was the innkeeper of the Admiral Benbow Inn. It was then that the old seaman with the terrible scar on his cheek first came to live under our roof. I remember him as if it were yesterday. He was a big, heavy man. A pigtail fell over the shoulder of his dirty, blue coat. His hands were twisted, and that shiny, white scar —I shall never forget it!

He looked along the seacoast, and whistled to himself. Then, with a voice high and shaking, he broke out in an old sea song that he would sing so often after: “Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest—yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!”  

He was a silent man, but was used to being obeyed. We called him Captain. All day he hung about the cliffs with his brass telescope. All evening he sat in the parlor by the fire, drinking strong rum and water. Every day he asked if there were any sailors who had gone by along the road. At first, we thought that he asked because he wanted company, but soon we began to see that he was afraid. 

He promised me a silver four penny if I would keep watch for a seafaring man with one leg. How that one-legged sailor haunted my dreams! On stormy nights when the wind shook the four corners of the inn and the surf roared along the cove and up the cliff, he would appear with a thousand cruel expressions.

There were nights when the captain drank a lot more rum than his head could handle. Then he would sing his wild sea songs. Sometimes he would call for glasses for all and would force the trembling company to sing along. Often I would hear the house shaking with “Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum” —all the neighbors joining in with the fear of death upon them. Each would sing louder than the other to avoid an angry remark from the captain.

His stories were what frightened people most of all. Dreadful stories they were—about hanging, walking the plank, storms at sea, and wild deeds on the Spanish Main. He must have lived a life among some of the wickedest men upon the sea. The people were scared but, looking back upon it, it was a fine excitement in a quiet country life. He was a true “sea dog” and the sort of man who made seafaring so terrifying.

One day in January a stranger came. He had a nasty look, and I saw that he was missing two fingers on his left hand. “Is my mate Bill here?” he sneered. The captain looked as if he had seen a ghost. “Black Dog!” he gasped.

From: Treasury of Ilustrated Classics Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson Adapted by Barbara Green 1996-2004.



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