I had decided the one perfect marriage in history would be ours. No conflicts...no harsh words...no hurt feelings...no tears...nothing negative. My wife had made a similar resolution. For three weeks we had walked on egg shells， protecting each other from the slightest unpleasantness.
Dare I break the spell？ Dare I be honest and open？ She had soaked in that blasted stuff every day of our marriage. I knew I couldn’t hold out forever. So I said in my sweetest， softest voice， “Honey， that perfume smells like bug spray.”
Silence！ Like the silence that must have followed President Roosevelt’s announcement that the Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbor. I stared straight ahead trying to concentrate on the steady metallic rhythm of the train cars rolling by.
I glanced at my bride out of the corner of my eye. Her lower lip was quivering slightly. The way it still does when she’s fighting a good cry. We drove on.
After an eternity she mumbled softly， “I won’t use that brand again.” Any married person can finish the story. We choked down our gourmet dinner. Pouted. Went through the “It’s all my fault， Honey” routine. She teared. And we finally reconciled， promising never to be cross with each other again. The whole episode is now part of our family lore. Our repertory of delightful “young and dumb” stories.
But I still think our marriage began with my observation about the perfume. At that point we began to grow. We discovered marriage is a union stronger than emotions. We began to drop the foolishness about unruffled bliss. We took our first step toward learning that one all important lesson， a lesson no one ever outgrows—love is a death resurrection relationship.
As for the perfume...I sprayed the rest on roaches. It worked！
我们是在1996年10月14日举行婚礼的，然而真正意义上的婚姻生活是在三个星期后才开始。那时我们穿戴整齐，驾车前往镇上最豪华的餐馆。整整一个星期我们省吃俭用，就是为了在那里美餐一顿。
但问题是：我的新娘子喷了世界上最难闻的香水。那种香水闻上去像是芥子气、黑胡椒粉和枫蜜蒸汽的混合体。我现在回想起来还想吐。
我们停在一个与铁路相交的路口。车外很冷，于是我关上车窗开暖气。我的鼻子和肺部开始无声地求救。但是我不想因为说出自己对香水的不满而坏了我新娘子的好心情。
我早已下定决心要使我们的婚姻成为历史上最完美的：没有冲突，不会恶言相向，不伤感情，不垂泪，总之没有不愉快的事情。我的妻子也下了类似的决心。三个星期以来，我们都小心翼翼，如履薄冰，以免给对方带来哪怕一丁点的不愉快。
我敢打破这层薄冰吗？我敢坦诚率直地说出来吗？结婚后的每一天她满身都是这股难闻的气味。我知道自己迟早都会受不了。于是我用最悦耳、最温柔的声音对她说：“亲爱的，你的香水闻起来像杀虫剂。”
接着是一阵沉默，就像是美国总统罗斯福宣布日本轰炸珍珠港之后紧跟着的死一般的沉寂。火车轰隆隆地驶过，我呆望着前方，试图把注意力集中在车厢规律的移动上。
我用眼角的余光偷偷瞟了我的新娘子一眼。她的下唇在微微颤抖。直到现在，每当她强忍泪水的时候，她的下唇还是会这样。我们继续向前开。
过了很久，她才轻轻地咕哝了一句：“我再也不用那个牌子的香水了。”每个已婚人士都能猜到接下来的事情。我们勉强咽下那顿丰盛美味的晚餐。她噘着嘴生气。我说着“这都是我的错，亲爱的”之类的话，照例道歉个不停。她痛哭了一场。最后我们和好了，答应不再生对方的气。现在，这件事成了我们家庭历史的一部分，“年少无知”的故事之一。
至今，我仍然认为我对她的香水的批评是我们婚姻的真正起点。那时我们才开始成长。我们发现，要维持一段婚姻，光靠感情还不够。我们开始放弃家庭永无争吵的天真想法。我们迈出学习的第一步，渐渐学会一门重要的、永无止境的学问——爱即是感情破裂的一种起死回生。
至于那瓶香水……我把剩下的都用来喷蟑螂了。确实有效！
War and Rose
战争与玫瑰
Francis Meilland was a French rose breeder， and he had dedicated his life to the roses in his garden. He knew each one intimately. But of all his treasures， there is one tiny plant he cared the most. It is a masterpiece， producing the most heartbreakingly beautiful blooms， unlike anything he had ever grown before.
Meilland was anxious to experiment， to develop the rose further， and to give it an appropriate name. But he was out of time. The year was 1939 and the threat of war hovered over Western Europe. He could only hope to preserve the rose from the terrible dangers on the horizon.
By June the following year， the German Army had occupied northern France. Now the Nazis cut across to the coast， then turned and moved toward Paris， never striking twice in the same place. Waging blitzkrieg， or lightning war， they had attacked first one town， then another， spreading defeat and disaster everywhere.
Pressed for time， Meilland took cuttings from his beloved plant， still untested and still unnamed. Methodically， he packaged and shipped them to rose fans throughout the world. Would they get out of France？ Would they arrive at their destinations？ More importantly， would they survive？ He could only hope and pray.
One last plane left France just before the Nazis gained control of the airport. On board were the final rose cuttings， cushioned in a diplomatic pouch， destined for the United States.
Four long years passed. Throughout Europe， shelling resounded like a giant bell solemnly tolling the dead. And then it arrived： a letter from a rose grower in Pennsylvania praising the beauty of Meilland"s discovery. It was ruffled and delicate. The petals were of cameo ivory and palest cream， tipped with a tinge of pink.
His rose had survived.
But， for Meilland， the crowning glory came later. On the very day that Berlin fell and bells of freedom rang across Europe， rose growers gathered far away， in sunny California， at a ceremony to christen his splendid blossom. To honor the occasion， white doves were set free to wing their way across a sapphire sky.
And， after so many years， the fragile rose that had survived a war finally received its name—Peace.
弗朗西斯？梅昂是一名法国玫瑰花育种专家，他毕生的精力都花费在花园中的玫瑰花上。他对每一株玫瑰都了如指掌。但是在所有这些宝贝当中，有一株他格外留意。这株开出令人怦然心动的美丽花朵的玫瑰是一个经典杰作，和他曾经培育的所有玫瑰都不同。
梅昂先生迫切地想要试验，想继续培育这种玫瑰，然后给它取一个合适的名字。但是他没有时间了。眼下是1939年，战争的威胁笼罩着整个西欧。他只能寄希望于保护这些玫瑰躲过即将到来的恐怖危险。
到第二年六月，德国军队已占领了法国北部。现在纳粹抄近路越过海岸线，然后调转方向向巴黎进发，所向披靡。Waging Blitzkrieg，或者叫闪电战，他们首先侵略一座城镇，然后又一座，把失败和灾难蔓延到各个地方。
迫于时间，梅昂先生从他心爱的、还没有验证和命名的玫瑰上切下插条。他把这些插条整整齐齐地包裹起来，寄到世界各地的玫瑰迷那里。它们会逃离法国吗？它们能到达目的地吗？更重要的是，它们能幸存下来吗？他能做的只有期待和祈祷。
最后一班飞机离开法国之后，纳粹控制了机场。机上有最后一批玫瑰插条，它们被放入外交邮袋中，目的地是美国。
漫长的四年过去了。整个欧洲上空回荡着隆隆的炮声，仿佛是一口大钟在庄严地为死者敲响。终于有消息传来：宾夕法尼亚州的玫瑰种植者来信称赞梅昂先生发现的美。玫瑰长着褶饰边，赏心悦目。花瓣仿佛是带有多彩浮雕的象牙，又好像最浅淡的奶油，花瓣的边缘是淡淡的粉红色。
他的玫瑰活下来了。
然而对于梅昂先生，崇高的荣誉要迟些才到来。在攻克柏林，自由的钟声响彻整个欧洲大地的那一天，玫瑰花种植者们聚集到遥远的、阳光明媚的加利福尼亚，来参加给这种绚丽的花朵命名的仪式。为了纪念这一时刻，人们放飞无数白鸽，让它们在蓝宝石般的天空中自由地翱翔。
这么多年以后，在战争中幸存下来的娇弱的玫瑰，终于有了它自己的名字——“和平”。
The bargain hunters
淘宝者
John and I may look like your average couple walking around at a garage sale， but we"re actually professionals for good deals—and we know all the tricks to get them. So when we saw the sign outside a little country church proclaiming“Fair！ Bargains！ Open 9：00 A.M. today！” John pulled over.
