高三英语培优·名著阅读之心灵鸡汤精选 A Cookbook and a Prayer（答案在最后）
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心灵鸡汤精选A Cookbook and a Prayer
【文章梗概】儿子想向妈妈借一本烤面包的烹饪书，最终妈妈答应了。但他在制作的过程中还是把书弄脏了。哪儿也买不到这本书，他只能祈祷，希望出现奇迹。最后在差不多不得不向妈妈承认这件事的时候，他们外出买东西时看到了一家书店卖面包烹饪书。真诚的祈祷真会出现奇迹！ I would maintain that thanks are the highest form of thought, and that gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder.
~G.K. Chesterton
“Mom, can I borrow your bread cookbook?” My mother shot me an incredulous look. I knew exactly what she was thinking; she didn’t even have to say it. The expression on her face said it all. “I don’t think so, dear.”
When it came to cooking and baking, my mother and I were of the same mind. We both clipped recipes from women’s magazines and could spend hours perusing cookbooks and planning special dinners as though it were sport. Oh, we were both creative in the kitchen, all right, and frequently joked that our talent must have been an inherited gift. After all, my grandmother could craft anything from apple strudel complete with homemade phyllo dough, to barbecue with all the fixings. What I didn’t inherit, however, was both ladies’ meticulous style.
Since childhood, I’d watch in awe as my two mentors operated with nary a spill or so much as a grain of sugar dropped to the floor. On the other hand, I was a mess. I’d start off with the best of intentions, ingredients lined up like soldiers with measuring cups at the ready. But then I’d turn to grab the salt shaker and catch a cup of milk with my elbow, spill
ing it across the counter, or pour the flour a bit too fast from the container, dusting the floor. I tried to be neat, I really did. But despite it all, some unhappy little accident always seemed to happen.
My clumsiness didn’t deter me, though, and I continued to increase my repertoire by mastering the art of baking with yeast. My mother made wonderful loaves of bread from recipes in this special cookbook. Walnut and oatmeal, raisin-cinnamon, or my favorite, a crusty French bread — her house smelled divine whenever she baked. I wanted to borrow that book. I needed to have it. “Mom, won’t you reconsider?”
巧缘艳史
“Don’t you remember what happened to the last book you borrowed?” she reminded. “You spilled buttermilk on the corner, and the pages stuck together.”
“I won’t do that again,” I assured her. “Besides, that was an accident.”
临床代谢组学“It’s always an accident with you.”
I suppose I must have looked especially pitiful that day, or perhaps my mother was antici
pating the extra loaf of bread she knew I would bake for her, but with a sudden change of heart, she reached into her cabinet and pulled out none other than The Bread Book. “Nothing better happen to this,” she warned.
“Nothing,” I 浙江实用医学parroted as I grabbed the book with one hand and crossed my heart with the other. “Promise.”
港口法Back at my house, I cradled the open cookbook in a clean kitchen towel and placed it on a shelf above my counter. I wasn’t taking any chances. This was my opportunity to redeem myself, and I wasn’t going to blow it. One by one, I measured, stirred and sifted each ingredient slowly and cautiously. Then it came time to turn the dough into a bowl rubbed with oil so that it could rise freely without sticking to the sides. With a sure hand, I unscrewed the cap. Then I lifted the bottle of oil and, in nothing short of a gymnastic maneuver, it flew from my fingers into the air and landed on top of my mother’s precious cookbook.
I tried every trick I knew to minimize the damage. I mopped the pages with paper towels
and placed tissues between them to stop the oil from spreading. I even dusted the book with baby powder and cornstarch to absorb the grease, all to no avail化学脑中毒. It was ruined. I thought quickly, but could come up with no other good solutions. The only hope I had was to come clean to my mother and buy her a new book to replace the one I had damaged.
In the days long before the Internet, that required some footwork. When I finished baking my bread, I began calling bookstores in the area to see if they had a copy in stock. All too soon, I found out the sorry truth: The Bread Book was out of print. Furthermore, it had been a small print run, and chances were no store — anywhere — had any remaining copies.
I started to shake. And then I started to pray. Even though it seemed frivolous to make such a request in prayer, I could think of no other course of action. Oh, Lord, I thought. You know my heart. I meant to do something good, yet it turned out bad. I don’t want to disappoint my mother. Please help me find a way out of this mess.
The following weekend, my mother and I had a date to do some holiday shopping. My sto
mach churned as I thought of seeing her again and having to tell her the truth. I would confess after we finished our errands, I decided. There was no use ruining the whole day. Besides, there was a bookstore in the mall and maybe, by some miracle, they might have a copy.
Yet, it was not to be.
On the drive home, I was getting ready to tell her when my mother pointed out a dollar store on the main road. “Let’s stop in and take a look,” she said. “I need some wrapping paper anyway.”
So, we did. And as I walked through the doors of the most dusty, dingy dollar store I had ever seen, there, right at the first end cap, was a pile of scattered books with a copy of The Bread Book right on top. I can’t say for certain this was a miracle, but it sure felt like one. I paid my dollar and gave my mother the book. She was happy. I was happy. And after I filled her in on the details of my story, we both agreed that perhaps no honest request made in prayer is ever too frivolous to be answered.
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