Singing songs in the old days.

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Katrina Katrinka was like any other ordinary mother with two kids, a station wagon, and a 60 foot tall crane in her back yard. The crane just showed up one morning.

A construction company was building an apartment building down the street. One day the company went bankrupt, and left their crane in Mrs. Katrinka's back yard. They just went bankrupt, and left her with a 60 foot tall crane in her back yard.

Mrs. Katrinka didn't know what to do at first. But then she had an idea. She called the sanitation department in her town to come around and pick up the 60 foot tall crane. If you have an old couch, an old table, an old refrigerator, or an old washing machine, you can call the sanitation department, and they'll come around and pick it up.

You can guess what the sanitation department had to say about Mrs. Katrinka's crane. "Sorry, ma'am. We don't pick up 60 foot tall cranes. Old couches, old tables,

old refrigerators, and old washing machines are fine. Large, 60 foot tall cranes are not fine."

Mrs. Katrinka was not the type of ordinary mother who lets a 60 foot tall crane sit around in her back yard. No, sirree. Not that type of ordinary mother at all.

So she bought a large wrench, and climbed up the tall 60 foot crane. She carefully climbed out onto the horizontal part of the crane, and unbolted one of the end sections. She happily climbed down and carried the steel section into her basement.

Her neighbors peered over the fence, wondering what on earth could this ordinary mother be doing with a steel section of crane in her basement. What the neighbors didn't know was that Mrs. Katrinka also bought an excellent power saw. This saw could cut through the toughest, hardest steel.

Day after day, Mrs. Katrinka would take one more section from the crane, carrying it carefully down into her basement. And night after night, she cut those sections up into little bits. These little bits of steel were easy enough to hide in her regular trash.

Some of the bits she stuffed in empty cans of tuna fish. Other bits she stuffed in the middle of over-ripe watermelons. And other bits she hid inside old smelly socks.

But it's hard to hide a full 60 foot crane in your day to day trash. You could hide a 20 foot crane, or a 30 foot crane. But a 60 foot crane is just too big to easily hide in the trash.

So Mrs. Katrinka started painting the sections of crane she took down each day. She painted them, and then welded them into interesting sorts of sculptures. When her basement became too full of sculptures, she set the sculptures out in her back yard.

It didn't take long for people to flock from all over the neighborhood to see Mrs. Katrinka's sculptures. One day, one of her neighbors walked right up her front steps and asked if she might buy one of the sculptures.

Well, Mrs. Katrinka didn't know what to say. She didn't make the sculptures to sell. She made the sculptures because it's hard to hide all the bits of a 60 foot crane in your trash.

On the very day that she took down the last section of the crane, the man who used to own the construction company came back to pick up his crane. "Sorry, sir," Mrs.

Katrinka said.

"The crane you left in my back yard is no longer here anymore. It's hiding in empty cans of tuna fish, over-ripe watermelons, and old smelly socks. If you want to put it back together, you'll have to go looking through lots of empty tuna fish cans, over-ripe watermelons, and old socks."

"Well, ma'am," said the construction company man. "I really shouldn't have left that 60 foot crane in your back yard. It wasn't the right thing to do, and I'd like to apologize to you."

Mrs. Katrinka looked the man up and down. He looked as if he was genuinely sorry for what he had done.

"Oh, all right," Mrs. Katrinka said. "If you'd like to take home some of the 60 foot crane you left in my back yard, it's sitting right over there in those six sculptures."

"Six sculptures?" said the man, in wonder.

"Yes, six sculptures," replied Mrs. Katrinka. "Mrs. Olney down the street bought the seventh sculpture last week for $200."

"Well, the least I can do is buy the other six sculptures, at the same price," the man whispered gently.

"No. I'm sorry. That won't do," replied Mrs. Katrinka. "I can't sell all six of those sculptures. They mean too much to me now."

"But I tell you what. If you want to buy five of them, I won't complain too loudly about that. You can't expect me to give up all my wonderful sculptures to some stranger who left a 60 foot crane in my back yard."

"Yes, ma'am. It's too much to expect an ordinary mother to give up all six sculptures she made from a 60 foot tall crane that a total stranger left in her back yard."

As Mrs. Katrinka took the man's money, she laughed, "Besides, I need to keep at least one sculpture to show my grandchildren. They'll never believe this story if I didn't have at least one of the sculptures left to show them..."
  

The north side of hanbury street is now covered by the sprawling1 mass of the buildings that were formerly2 the truman brewery3. It was built on the site of number 29 hanbury street, in the back yard of which at around 6am on 8th September 1888, the body of Annie Chapman, jack4 the ripper's second victim was discovered .

At 6am on 8th September 1888 John Davis, an elderly resident of 29 hanbury street came downstairs, walked along the narrow passageway and opened the back door. The sight that he saw shook him to the core. Moments later two workmen walking along hanbury street were suddenly startled when the door of number 29 burst open and a wild eyed old man stumbled into the street. "Men" he cried "come here." Nervously5 they followed him along the passageway and looking into the yard saw the mutilated body of annie chapman.

Her dress had been pulled up around her knees, exposing her striped stockings. A deep cut had slashed6 across her throat; her intestines7 had been tugged8 out and laid across her shoulder. Missing from the body were the uterus and part of the bladder. The contents of her pocket were found lying in a neat pile near to the body. The brass9 rings that she had been wearing at the time of her death had evidently been torn from her fingers and were never discovered. and, just a few feet away from the body, there lay a folded and wet leather apron10 .

At 6am on 8th september 1888 john davis, an elderly resident of 29 hanbury street came downstairs, walked along the narrow passageway and opened the back door. The sight that he saw shook him to the core. moments later two workmen walking along hanbury street were suddenly startled when the door of number 29 burst open and a wild eyed old man stumbled into the street. "Men" he cried "come here." Nervously they followed him along the passageway and looking into the yard saw the mutilated body of annie chapman.

Her dress had been pulled up around her knees, exposing her striped stockings. A deep cut had slashed across her throat; her intestines had been tugged out and laid across her shoulder. Missing from the body were the uterus and part of the bladder. The contents of her pocket were found lying in a neat pile near to the body. The brass rings that she had been wearing at the time of her death had evidently been torn from her fingers and were never discovered. And, just a few feet away from the body, there lay a folded and wet leather apron .  

Just for today I will try to live through this day only and not tackle my whole life problem at once. I can do something for twelve hours that would appall me if I had to keep it up for a lifetime.

　　Just for today I will be happy. This assumes to be true what Abraham Lincoln said, that "Most folks are as happy as they make up their minds to be ."

　　Just for today I will adjust myself to what is, and not try to adjust everything to my own desires. I will take my "luck" as it comes.

　　Just for today I will try to strengthen my mind. I will study. I will learn something useful. I will not be a mental loafer. I will read something that requires effort, thought and concentration.

　　Just for today I will exercise my soul in three ways. I will do somebody a good turn and not get found out: If anybody knows of it, it will not count. I will do at least two things I don‘t want to do—just for exercise. I will not show anyone that my feelings are hurt: they may be hurt, but today I will not show it


　　Just for today I will be agreeable. I will look as well as I can, dress becomingly, talk low, act courteously, criticize not one bit, and try not to improve or regulate anybody but myself.

　　Just for today I will have a program, I may not follow it exactly, but I will have it. I will save myself from two pests: hurry and indecision.

　　Just for today I will have a quiet half hour all by myself and relax. During this half hour, sometime, I will try to get a better perspective of my life.

　　Just for today I will be unafraid. Especially I will not be afraid to enjoy what is beautiful, and to believe that as I give to the world, so the world will give to me .  

Six minutes to six, said the clock over the information booth in New York’s Grand Central Station. The tall young Army lieutenant lifted his sunburned face and narrowed his eyes to note the exact time. His heart was pounding with a beat. In six minutes he would see the woman who had filled such a special place in his life for the past 13 month, the woman he had never seen, yet whose written words had sustained him unfailingly HKUE amec.
Lieutenant Blandford remembered one day in particular, during the worst of the fighting, when his plane had been caught in the midst of a pack of enemy’s planes. In one of his letters he had confessed to her that he often felt fear, and only a few days before this battle he had received her answer: “Of course you fear…all brave men do. Next time you doubt yourself, I want you to hear my voice reciting to you: ‘yeah, though I walked through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I will hear no evil: for thou art with me.’…” He had remembered, and it had renewed his strength HKUE ENG.
Now he was going to hear her real voice. Four minutes to six.
A girl passed close to him, and Lieutenant Blandford started. She was wearing a flower, but it was not the little red rose they had agreed upon. Besides, this girl was only about 18, and Hollis Meynell had told him she was 30. “What of it?” he had answered. “I’m 32.” He was 29.
His mind went back to that book he had read in the training camp. Of Human Bondage it was; and throughout the book were notes in a woman’s handwriting. He had never believed that a woman could see into a man’s heart so tenderly, so understandingly. Her name was on the book plate: Hollis Meynell. He had got hold a New York City telephone book and found her address. He had written; she had answered. Next day he had been shipped out, but they had gone on writing HKUE ENG.
For 13 months she had faithfully replied. When his letters did not arrive, she wrote anyway, and now he believed that he loved her and that she loved him.
But she had refused all his pleas to send him her photograph. She had explained:” If you’re feeling for me has any reality, what I look like won’t matter. Suppose I’m beautiful. I’d always been haunted by the feeling that you had been taking a chance on just that, and that kind of love would disgust me. Suppose I’m plain ( and you must admit that this is more likely), then I’d always fear that you were only going on writing because you were lonely and had no one else. No, don’t ask for my picture. When you come to New York, you shall see me and then you shall make your decision.”
One minute to six…he put hard on a cigarette. Then Lieutenant Blandford’s heart leaped.
A young woman was coming towards him. Her figure was long and slim; her blond hair lay back in curls over her delicate ears. Her eyes were as blue as flowers, her lips and chin had a gentle firmness. In her pale-green suit, she was like springtime come alive.
He started toward her, forgetting to notice that she was wearing no rose, and as he moved, a small, provocative smile curved her lips.
“Going my way, soldier?” she murmured. He made one step closer to her. Then he saw Hollis Meynell.
She was standing almost directly behind the girl, a woman well past 40, her graying hair tucked under a worn hat. She was more than plump; her thick ankled feet were thrust into low-heeled shoes.
But she wore a red rose on her rumpled coat. The girl in the green suit was walking quickly. Blandford felt as though he were being split into two, so keen was his desire to follow the girl, yet so deep was his longing for the woman whose spirit had truly companioned and upheld his own; and there she stood. He could see her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible; her grey eyes had a warm twinkle.
Lieutenant Blandford did not hesitate. His fingers gripped the worn copy of Human Bondage which was to identify him to her. This would not be love, but it would be something precious, a friendship that he had been and must ever be grateful…
He squared his shoulders, saluted, and held the book out toward the woman, although even well while he spoke he fell the bitterness of disappointment. “I’m John Blandford, and you---you are Miss Meynell. May---may I take you to dinner?”
The woman smiled. “I don’t know what this is all about, son,” she answered. “That young lady in the green suit, she begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said that if you ask me to go out with you, I should tell you that she’s waiting for you in that restraint across the street. She said it was some kind of test.”  

A daughter complained to her father about her life and how things were so hard for her, She did not know she was going to make it and want to give up. She was tired of fighting and struggling. It seemed as one problem was solved a new one arose.

Her father, a cook, took her to the kitchen, He filled three pots with water and placed each on a high fire .Soon the pots came to a boil. In one he placed carrots , in the second he placed eggs, and in the last he placed ground coffee beans. He led them sit and boil, without saying a word.

The daughter sucked her teeth and impatiently waited, wondering what he was doing. In about twenty minutes he turned off the burners, He fished the carrots out and placed them in a bowl. He pulled the eggs out and placed them a bowl. Then he ladled the coffee out and placed it in a mug neostrata gel plus. Turning to her he asked," Darling, what do you see?"

"Carrots, eggs, and coffee." she replied.

He brought her closer and asked her to feel the carrots, she did and noted that they were soft .He then asked her to take an egg and break it. After pulling off the shell, she observed the hard-boiled egg. Finally, he asked her to sip the coffee .She smiled, as she tasted its rich aroma.

"What does it mean, Father?" she humbly asked.

He explained that each of them had faced the same adversity, boiling water, but each reacted differently. The carrot went in strong, hard, and unrelenting. But after being subjected to the boiling water, it softened and weak. The egg had being fragile. Its thin outer shell had protected its liquid interior, but after sitting through the boiling water. its inside became hardened ,The ground coffee beans were unique ,however ,After they were in the boiling water ,they had changed the water .

"Which are you?" he asked his daughter.

When adversity knocks on your door, how do you respond? Are you a carrot, an egg or a coffee bean?  

Franky Bernstein loves startups. His latest company, Markett, is born out of that love, and his innate desire to share tips about those innovative new startup companies with the wider world.
The 24-year-old serial entrepreneur first was bitten by the entrepreneurial bug while attending Loyola Marymount University, where, as a representative in student government, he began looking for a way to cut down on drinking and driving among the student body.
He found Uber. The ride-hailing service embraced the idea of a promotional deal for LMU students and Bernstein became a commission-based ambassador for the student body ego one mini.
From there, Bernstein expanded his network, building a team of student ambassadors for the company’s ride-sharing app that were making hundreds — then thousands — of dollars per week.
That exposure led to the creation of Markett, Bernstein’s latest venture that connects everyday users with brands and gives them a way to make money by shilling for the companies they love.
After working with Uber, Bernstein reached out to Lyft and talked to Josh Renfro, the director of business development there. Working with Renfro, while still a student, Bernstein helped train thousands of brand ambassadors nationwide — and even converted several Lyft drivers into brand advocates.
“Working with Uber and Lyft planted the seed of entrepreneurship,” says Bernstein.
Indeed, Bernstein was so inspired by his brush with the startup world that he launched his own company. Bernstein’s first foray into the wild world of startup businesses was Interwallet (now called Maya), a bill-pay kiosk network for the underbanked.
Now, with Los Angeles-based Markett, Bernstein wants to give everyone the same opportunity he had — the ability to make money talking up the new startup services that they love .
We want to be the largest marketing company in the world that doesn’t spend any money on marketing.
— Franky Bernstein, chief executive, Markett

“Being able to work with Uber and Lyft isn’t easy to do, and I want to provide more access to that,” says Bernstein. Beyond that, Bernstein wants people to be able to make money talking about the products they love and give brands an opportunity to achieve more of a direct relationship with their customers.
To achieve that vision the company has raised roughly $2 million in venture financing from investors, including KEC Ventures, Amplify.LA, Luma Launch, Wavemaker VC, Tiller Partners, Building Blocks, and angel investors like Jamie Patricof, Michael Kane, Joseph Varet, Varun Pathria and John St. Thomas.
With the company’s launch, ambassadors can sign up to work with venture-backed companies like Airbnb, ThriveMarket, FanDuel, The Bouqs, Zeel and Winc.
Bernstein chose those companies because of their approach to their customers and their willingness to reward their brand ambassadors.
“Every consumer brand wants to increase word-of-mouth marketing and explore alternative marketing channels to Facebook and Google,” Bernstein wrote in an email. “Markett is seeking to redistribute a piece of these brands’ ad budgets and put it into the pockets of their loyal customers.”
Markett isn’t the first company to try this approach. A company called BzzAgent launched in 2001 to bring brand ambassadorship to the masses. The company, which raised around $14 million in venture funding, was acquired in 2011 for around $60 million.
The legacy of the viral marketing campaign remains… but for Bernstein it’s not about marketing… it’s about truly connecting power users to the companies they love, and having those companies reward their everyday spokespeople for the work they’re doing.
To ensure that he achieves this vision, Bernstein has committed to giving nearly 100 percent of the marketing budgets that Markett’s partners spend on the program to the Markett marketers. Any profits are dedicated to bonuses, Bernstein tells me. Eventually, the company intends to take a cut of every transaction mathconcept.
“We want to be the largest marketing company in the world that doesn’t spend any money on marketing,” Bernstein says.