精美散文:APlateofPeas

My grandfather died when I was a small boy， and my grandmother started staying with us for about six months every year. She lived in a room that doubled as my father's office， which we referred to as "the back room." She carried with her a powerful aroma. I don't know what kind of perfume she used， but it was the double-barreled， ninety-proof， knockdown， render-the-victim-unconscious， moose-killing variety. She kept it in a huge atomizer and applied it frequently and liberally. It was almost impossible to go into her room and remain breathing for any length of time. When she would leave the house to go spend six months with my Aunt Lillian， my mother and sisters would throw open all the windows， strip the bed， and take out the curtains and rugs. Then they would spend several days washing and airing things out， trying frantically to make the pungent odor go away.
　　This， then， was my grandmother at the time of the infamous pea incident.
　　It took place at the Biltmore Hotel， which， to my eight-year-old mind， was just about the fancies place to eat in all of Providence. My grandmother， my mother， and I were having lunch after a morning spent shopping. I grandly ordered a salisbury steak， confident in the knowledge that beneath that fancy name was a good old hamburger with gravy. When brought to the table， it was accompanied by a plate of peas.
　　I do not like peas now. I did not like peas then. I have always hated peas. It is a complete mystery to me why anyone would voluntarily eat peas. I did not eat them at home. I did not eat them at restaurants. And I certainly was not about to eat them now.
　　"Eat your peas，" my grandmother said.
　　"Mother，" said my mother in her warning voice. "He doesn't like peas. Leave him alone."
　　“My grandmother did not reply， but there was a glint in her eye and a grim set to her jaw that signaled she was not going to be 14）thwarted. She leaned in my direction， looked me in the eye， and uttered the fateful words that changed my life： "I'll pay you five dollars if you eat those peas."
　　I had absolutely no idea of the impending doom. I only knew that five dollars was an enormous， nearly unimaginable amount of money， and as awful as peas were， only one plate of them stood between me and the possession of that five dollars. I began to force the wretched things down my throat.
　　My mother was livid. My grandmother had that self-satisfied look of someone who has thrown down an unbeatable trump card. "I can do what I want， Ellen， and you can't stop me." My mother glared at her mother. She glared at me. No one can glare like my mother. If there were a glaring Olympics， she would undoubtedly win the gold medal.
　　I， of course， kept shoving peas down my throat. The glares made me nervous， and every single pea made me want to throw up， but the magical image of that five dollars floated before me， and I finally gagged down every last one of them. My grandmother handed me the five dollars with a flourish. My mother continued to glare in silence. And the episode ended. Or so I thought.
　　My grandmother left for Aunt Lillian's a few weeks later. That night， at dinner， my mother served two of my all-time favorite foods， meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Along with them came a big， steaming bowl of peas. She offered me some peas， and I， in the very last moments of my innocent youth， declined. My mother fixed me with a cold eye as she heaped a huge pile of peas onto my plate. Then came the words that were to haunt me for years.
　　"You ate them for money，" she said. "You can eat them for love."
　　Oh， despair！ Oh， devastation！ Now， too late， came the dawning realization that I had unwittingly damned myself to a hell from which there was no escape.
　　"You ate them for money. You can eat them for love."
　　What possible argument could I muster against that？ There was none. Did I eat the peas？ You bet I did. I ate them that day and every other time they were served thereafter. The five dollars were quickly spent. My grandmother passed away a few years later. But the legacy of the peas lived on， as it lives on to this day. If I so much as curl my lip when they are served （because， after all， I still hate the horrid little things）， my mother repeats the dreaded words one more time： "You ate them for money，" she says. "You can eat them for love."

精美散文:NeverJudgeABookbyItsCover

A lady in a faded gingham dress and her husband， dressed in a homespun threadbare suit， stepped off the train in Boston， and walked timidly without an appointment into the president of Harvard‘s outer office .The secretary could tell in a moment that such backwoods country folk had not business at Harvard， and probably didn’t even deserve to be in Cambridge .She frowned. “We want to see the president，” the man said softly.“ He‘ll be busy all day，” the secretary snapped.“ We’ll wait，” the lady replied.
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　
　　For hours， the secretary ignored them， hoping that the couple would finally become discouraged and go away. They didn‘t. And the secretary grew frustrated and finally decided to disturb the president. “Maybe if they just see you for a few minutes， they’ll leave，” she told him. He signed in exasperation and nodded. Someone of his importance obviously didn‘t have the time to spend with nobodies， but he detested gingham and homespun suits cluttering his office.
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　
　　The president， stern-faced with dignity， strutted toward the couple .The lady told him， “We had a son that attended Harvard for one year .He loved Harvard， and was very happy here. But he was accidentally   killed. And my husband and I would like to erect a memorial to him somewhere on campus. ”The president wasn‘t touched， and she was shocked， “Madam，” he said gruffly， “we can’t put up a statue for every person who attended Harvard and died， this place would look like a cemetery.
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　
　　“Oh， no” the lady explained quickly， “we don‘t want to erect a statue .We thought we would give a building to Harvard.” The president rolled his eyes. He glanced at the gingham dress and homespun suit， and then exclaimed， “A building！ Do you have and earthly idea how much a building costs？ We have over seven and a half million dollars in the physical plant at Harvard.
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　
　　For a moment the lady was silent. The president was pleased .He could get rid of them now. The lady turned to her husband and said quietly.“ Is that all it costs to start a university？” Her husband nodded .The president‘s face wilted in confusion and bewilderment. Mr. and Mrs. Leland Stanford walked away， traveling to Palo Alto， California where they established the university that bears their name ——a memorial to a son that Harvard no longer cared about.
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　
　　You can easily judge the character of others by how they treat those who can do nothing for them or to them.